• 


4 


V 


THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  ILLINOIS 


LIBRARY 


B 


REMOTE  STORAG! 


•• 

, 


I 


( 


•-..A 

A 


> 


ADOLPHTJS   F.    MONROE. 


"When  I  am  gone,  take  me  to  Kentucky — take  me  from  here,  and  bury  me  upon 
one  of  the  islands  above  Falmouth,  'St.  Helena,'  or  'Lovers'  Retreat.'  Inclose  it  aa 
I  have  directed ;  plant  a  weeping- willow  at  my  head,  and  a  cedar  at  my  feet." 


THE 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS 


or 


ADOLPHUS  F.MONROE, 


WHO    WAS 


HUNG  BY  A  BLOOD-THIRSTY  MOB 

I  N 

CHARLESTON,    ILL 

ON    THE 

15™  DAT  OF  FEBRUARY,  1856, 

FOR  KILLING  HIS  FATHER-IN-LAW, 

NATHAN  ELLINGTON,  ESQ., 
In.    S©l±"-I>©±"©:n.jse. 


CINCINNATI: 

PRINTED   FOR  THE  PUBLISHER. 
1857. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1857,  by  N.  B.  ACLICK,  in  the 

Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States, 

for  the  District  of  Kentucky. 


THE 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS 


V  V- 


ADOLPHUS  F.  MONROE. 


ADOLPHUS  FERDINAND  MONROE,  the  subject  of  this  memoir,  was 
born   in  the  town   of  Falmouth,  the  county-seat  of  Pendleton 
County,  Kentucky,  on  the  6th  day  of  November,  1827.     His  pa- 
rents were  Jeremiah  and  Maria  Monroe,  who,  though  in  very 
moderate  circumstances,  always  maintained  a  position  of  high 
respectability.     The  former  dying,  at  a  very  early  period  in  the 
life  of  the  son,  whose  history  we  are  about  very  briefly  to  narrate, 
jO      he  was  left  in  the  care  of  that  mother  for  whom  his  affection  seems 
1*      never  to  have  been  diminished,  and  upon  whose  prayers  alone  he 
^      might  lean  in  the  absence  of  the  temporal  advantages  of  wealth 
^      and  position.     She^as  not  unworthy  the  trust  which  devolved 
-w-      upon  her,  and,  with  the  unselfish  affection  and  high  resolve  of  a 
^3      woman's  nature,  <iischarged  it  with  fidelity. 
w»         Falmouth  is  a  beautiful  village  situated  at  the  confluence  of 
>—    Main   and  South   Licking  Rivers,  and   surrounded  by  scenery 
which  it  would  delight  the  poet  to  describe  or  the  painter  to 
sketch.    It  has  its  history  too ;  and  the  more  ancient  of  the  village 

~y. gossips  delight,  of  winter  evenings,  by  the  roaring  fireside,  to  re- 

*)      count,  to  their  more  youthful  auditors,  the  stories  of  Indian  depre- 

%       dations  in  the  neighborhood,  and  of  attacks  upon  the  town  itself 

</)       by  a  joint  force  of  British  and  savage  warriors,  when  on  their 

^       way  to  the  interior  of  Kentucky,  to  expel  the  white  man  forever 

from  the  soil  of  "The  Dark  and  Bloody  Ground." 

Amid  scenes  and  under  influences  like  these,  it  is  not  remark- 

9 


302909 


10  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF 

able  that  young  Monroe  very  early  manifested  a  precocity  of  in- 
tellect and  a  quick,  ardent  and  susceptible  temperament.  Intelli- 
gent, gay  and  sprightly,  he  became  the  idol  of  his  mother  in  her 
bereavement,  and  aware  that  he  must  look  alone  to  his  intellectual 
superiority  for  position  in  society,  she  left  nothing  within  her 
power  untried  to  give  him  the  advantages  of  a  good  education. 
He  was  sent  to  the  village  school — not  one  of  the  highest  order, 
but  the  best,  that  she  could  command — and  in  that  way  obtained 
sufficient  elementary  knowledge  to  enable  him  when  he  attained  a 
suitable  age  to  begin  the  world  as  a  schoolmaster,  in  which  useful 
and  peaceful  occupation  he  continued  until  his  removal  to  Charles- 
ton, Illinois,  in  the  month  of  February,  1852. 

His  mind  was  of  a  highly  poetic  cast.  He  was  subject  to  great 
and  rapid  changes  of  feeling ; — one  moment  as  gay  as  the  bird 
whose  morning  song  filled  his  soul  with  pleasure ;  the  next,  per- 
haps, in  tears,  and  with  a  heart  full  of  sorrow ; — now,  merry  and 
cheerful,  and  anon  torn  and  convulsed  by  a  tempest  of  passion. 
But,  like  the  summer  cloud  which  discharges  its  solitary  thunder- 
bolt and  then  dissolves  in  sunshine,  so  with  him,  the  paroxysm 
was  soon  over  and  gave  way  to  love  and  smiles.  In  fact,  his  was 
one  of  those  natures  whose  very  imperfections  we  fall  in  love 
with,  because  we  feel  that  they  are  the  excesses  which  are  wont  to 
spring  from  warm  and  generous  hearts. 

He  was  devoted  to  the  sex,  and  with  his  characteristics  it  would 
be  singular  indeed  had  he  been  less  popular  than  he  was  with 
the  gentler  half  of  humanity.  In  appearance  he  was  highly  pre- 
possessing. About  five  feet  eleven  inches  in  height,  slender  and 
delicate,  with  acomplexion  fair  to  effeminacy,  flaxen  hair,  unfath- 
omable blue  eyes,  a  forehead  broad,  high  and  intellectual,  with  an 
air  of  easy  self-possession  ;  brave  and  generous,  high  spirited  and 
wayward,  intelligent  and  handsome,  he  was  the  very  impersona- 
tion of  all  that  is  captivating  to  woman. 

Among  his  literary  remains,  are  to  be  found  many  evidences  of 
a  high  poetic  talent.  Thrown  off  on  the  spur  of  the  occasion, 
rapidly  written  and  never  pruned,  never  receiving  the  benefit  of 
that  careful  revision  which  authors,  jealous  of  their  fame,  bestow 
upon  their  productions,  they,  yet,  abundantly  display  the  fact  that 
the  writer  of  them  was  no  ordinary  man. 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONROE.  11 

While  the  tender  passion  seems  to  have  been  the  leading  theme 
which  has  employed  his  mind  and  heart,  we  find  that  he  has  not 
wholly  forgotten,  in  the  transports  of  youth  and  youthful  passion, 
to  devote  a  page  to  the  praises  of  his  mother,  nor  neglected  the 
claims  of  early  friendship.  The  wild  and  romantic  scenery  of  his 
native  village  has  not  been  omitted,  and  he  dwells  with  fond 
and  faithful  devotion  upon  the  spots  hallowed  by  the  recollections 
of  his  early  life.  The  school-house  where  he  first  received  the 
rudiments  of  his  education ;  the  willow-covered  island  to  which 
he  appears  to  have  often  retired  to  muse  and  be  alone,  and  the 
river,  as  it  went  roaring  or  murmuring  by,  seems  to  be  as  clear  in 
his  mind  and  as  dear  to  his  heart  when  he  writes  of  them  as  if 
they  were  present  to  his  sight. 

Upon  his  removal  to  Charleston,  he  was  engaged  as  a  clerk  in 
a  drugstore,  and  continued  in  that  employment  up  to  the  date  of 
his  marriage,  without  the  occurrence  of  any  incident  at  all  material 
to  this  memoir.  Of  a  social  turn,  with  ready  wit,  good  address, 
with  excellent  conversational  power,  and  with  much  proficiency  as 
a  mimic,  his  society  was  much  sought  after  and  enjoyed  by  the 
young  men  of  the  place.  His  career  may  have  been  somewhat 
varied  at  this  time  by  some  of  those  frolicksome  irregularities  of 
which  young  men,  thoughtlessly,  rather  than  from  any  bad  design, 
are  sometimes  guilty,  but  they  passed  off  and  were  soon  forgotten. 

In  spring  of  1853^Monroe  became  acquainted  with  Miss  Nan- 
nie Ellington,  daughter  of  Nathan  Ellington,  Esq.,  with  whose 
destiny,  from  the  moment  they  met,  his  own  seems  to  have  been 
indissolubly  woven.  With  them  the  beginning  of  acquaintance 
was  the  commencement  of  love,  and  the  lapse  of  a  few  months 
found  them  betrothed  and  applying  to  the  lady's  parents  for  per- 
mission to  celebrate  the  marriage  rite.  This  permission  was  for 
sometime  denied,  but  eventually  reluctantly  given,  and  the  mar- 
riage occurred  on  the  12th  of  December,  1853. 

Notwithstanding  the  hesitancy  which  characterized  the  conduct 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ellington  with  regard  to  this  affair,  and  the  well- 
understood  hostility  of  some  of  the  young  lady's  friends,  hostility 
founded  upon  such  reasons  as  almost  always  break  into  ripples 
the  course  of  time  love,  we  find  him  setting  out  hopefully  on  the 
journey  of  life  with  his  loved  and  lovely  bride,  intoxicated  by  the 


12  LIFE   AND   WETTING    OF 

happiness  of  his  new  situation  and  dreamless  of  the  disturbed  and 
angry  future  which  awaited  him.  Doubtless  his  ardent  and  buoy- 
ant nature  led  him  to  picture  his  coming  life  as  a  long  vista  of 
happiness  through  which  he  was  to  walk  hand  in  hand  with  her 
whom  he  had  chosen  as  the  wife  of  his  young  heart.  Her  subse- 
quent bearing  to  her  husband  in  the  midst  of  the  flaming  ordeal 
through  which  he  was  destined  to  pass,  proves  that  she  was  a 
woman  in  every  way  calculated  to  inspire  him  with  the  fondest 
affection  and  the  highest  hopes. 

But  we  must  leave  a  scene  like  this  and  prepare  ourselves"  for 
the  contemplation  of  things  of  a  darker  hue. 

Though  wedded  to  her  whom  alone  he  had  loved,  and  though 
sure  of  the  affection  of  her  young  heart,  with  his  marriage  began 
the  dark  chapter  of  woe  and  unhappiness  which  ended  in  the  death 
of  Monroe.  Unfortunately  the  prejudices  which  existed  against 
him  before  the  marriage  were  not  softened  by  that  event,  and  those 
upon  whom  it  should  have  had  a  different  effect,  seized  upon  it  as 
the  very  instrument  of  their  dislike. 

The  following  letter  from  Monroe  to  his  wife's  father,  though 
written  with  an  unsparing  pen,  will  serve  to  exhibit  to  the  reader's 
mind  the  situation  in  which  he  was  placed  and  the  grievances  to 
which  he  was  subjected.  We  give  it  without  comment  or  altera- 
tion : 

"CHARLESTON,  May  3,  1855. 
"NATHAN  ELLINGTON,  ESQ.  : 

"  Dear  Sir — When  I  called  upon  you,  a  few  days  since,  I  did 
it  with  the  best  and  kindest  feelings — I  spoke  to  you  as  I  would 
to  my  own  father,  if  he  had  been  living. 

"  I  studiously  refrained  from  saying  any  thing  that  might  wound 
your  feelings  ;  not  telling  you  half  what  I  had  heard,  from  differ- 
ent sources,  much  less  what  your  wife  had  said  to  my  own  mother, 
in  my  own  house ;  nor,  what  my  wife,  through  the  mistaken  in- 
fluence of  Tier  mother,  had  been  led  to  say  about  me  and  my 
mother.  Suppose  we  calmly  look  through  this  matter  and  analyze 
it,  and  see  who  is  wrong.  I  will  state  all  the  facts  in  the  case  to 
the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  recollection. 

"In  the  first  place,  many  months  ago,  I  heard  from  divers  per- 
sons, that  your  wife  said  you  would  never  give  me  any  thing ; 


ADOLPIIUS    F.    MONROE.  13 

that  I  was  a  drunkard  and  a  gambler  ;  that  I  had  made  a  gambler 
of  Jim  ;  that  I  was  too  lazy  to  support  my  family  ;  and  that  we 
would  starve  if  she  did  not  send  iis  something  to  eat. 

"  Well,  under  these  circumstances,  I  requested  Nannie  to  ask 
her  mother  not  to  send  any  thing  more  to  my  house,  and  to  tell 
her,  also,  that  it  was  not  because  I  had  any  thing  against  any  of 
you,  but  that  I  wished  to  stop  the  town-tattle.  My  request  made 
no  change.  Still  I  heard  the  remarks,  until,  goaded  beyond 
endurance,  I  threw  the  butter  she  sent  us  in  the  street.  This 
seemed  harsh,  yet  I  would  do  it  again,  under  the  same  circum- 
stances, and  I  believe  that  any  and  every  man,  who  has  a  spark  of 
soul  or  honor  in  him,  would  do  the  same. 

"  The  next  day,  your  wife  came  to  my  house  and  boasted  to  my 
mother  that  she  had  never  liked  the  Monroe  family,  and  that  she 
had  advised  Nannie  not  to  marry  me,  for  the  Monroes  were  all  a 
proud  and  overbearing  set,  and  mistreated  their  wives ;  that  I  was 
mad  because  you  did  not  give  me  a  farm,  etc.,  all  of  which,  for 
the  first  time,  my  mother  told  me.  Your  wife  also  said  that  Nan- 
nie wanted  to  leave  me,  that  she  should  leave  me,  etc. 

"  On  Sunday,  my  wife,  without  ever  telling  me,  locked  up  the 
house  and  went  to  your  house.  I  came  home  to  dinner  but  could 
not  get  in.  When  I  went  home  again  in  the  evening,  is  it  so 
strange  that  I  asked  her  why  she  did  not  stay  as  her  mother  said 
she  should  do ;  that  you,  and  all  your  family,  wanted  her  to  leave 
me,  and  that  if  she  wanted  to  go,  I  was  willing  ?  This,  under  the 
same  circumstances,  I  will  do  again,  confident  that  the  world  will 
justify  me,  and  conscious  that  I  would  be  doing  no  more  than  my 
duty  before  God.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  under  intense  excite- 
ment, I  spoke  harshly  of  your  wife.  Was  not  the  provocation 
greater  than  the  offense?  I  think  so.  I  did  wrong,  'tis  true,  to 
speak  harshly  of  any  woman,  under  any  circumstances  ;  but,  who 
is  perfect  ? 

"  Yesterday  your  wife  came  again  to  my  house,  with  the  open 
and  avowed  intention  of  taking  Nannie  home ;  begging  her  to 
leave  me  ;  telling  her  that  you  would  support  her ;  that  I  would 
soon  spend  all  I  had  for  whisky  j  that  she  would  lead  a  miserable 
life  with  me ;  that  she  had  better  leave  me  now,  while  she  had 
but  one  child ;  that  by  the  time  we  had  three  .or  four,  I  would  be  a 


14:  LIFE   AND    WRITINGS    OF 

dead  drunkard ;  that  she  had  been  told,  from  good  authority,  that 
I  had  been  seen  drinking  at  all  the  crossings  and  at  other  places ; 
and,  then,  in  my  presence,  she  again  acknowledged  that  she  had 
told  my  mother  that  I  was  mad  because  you  did  not  give  me  a 
farm,  together  with  many  other  things  that  she  had  said,  with  the 
simple  explanation  that  she  had  heard  so.  Then  she  threw  it  up 
to  me  that  it  was  the  fact;  that  she  had  always  known  that  I  had 
married  Nannie  for  her  money,  and  that  the  only  reason  she  and 
you  had  held  back  from  giving  me  any  thing  was,  that  I  was  a 
stranger,  and  you  wanted  to  try  me ;  that  now,  since  you  had 
found  me  to  be  a  savage,  a  beast,  a  drunkard,  a  gambler,  a 
spendthrift,  etc.,  you  would  never  give  me  any  thing;  but,  if 
Nannie  would  leave  me,  you  would  support  her  and  the  child. 

"  Now,  sir,  after  all  this,  don't  you  suppose  that  I  had  rather 
starve  than  receive  a  cent  from  you  f  Do  you  think  I  will  suffer 
my  wife  ever  to  receive  a  cent  from  you  or  yours,  while  she  is 
my  wife?  I  would  sooner  starve  myself,  and  see  her  and  my 
child  starve,  than  do  so.  If  you  don't  think  so,  I  do. 

"  Again,  your  wife  said  that  you  thought  it  very  foolish,  silly, 
ridiculous  and  childish  in  me  to  believe  such  things  when  I  heard 
them.  Very  '  childish,"*  even  when  it  comes  to  me  directly  from 
your  wife.  Yet,  you  and  she,  it  seems,  have  a  perfect  right  to 
believe  any  thing  you  hear,  as  law  and  gospel.  But,  I  suppose, 
I  am  not  to  believe  any  thing  your  wife  says  ?  If  so,  well  and 
good.  She  told  me  that  you  threatened,  if  ever  I  spoke  to  you,  or 
gave  you  any  of  my  'jaw,'  that  I  would  never  know  what  hurt  me. 
Sir,  I  presume  not,  from  the  fact  that  I  think  you  will  never  hurt 
me.  Suffer  me  to  suggest  to  you,  that  none  of  my  name  ever 
knew  what  it  was  to  fear  another  man ;  and  if  you  wish  to  have 
'  a  talk'  with  me,  come  peaceably  and  kindly,  as  I  did  to  you ; 
come  to  me  as  a  man,  and  so  you  will  be  met.  Rest  assured, 
that,  in  whatever  spirit  you  come,  I  will  meet  you  just  in  the 
same.  If  you  have  '  a  talk  '  for  me,  very  well ;  come  on,  say 
your  say,  and  do  your  do. 

"  I  am  poor,  but  not  so  poor  as  I  was  when  I  married  your 
daughter,  notwithstanding  I  am  such  a  spendthrift,  that  if  you 
gave  me  any  thing,  '  I  would  soon  run  through  with  it.'  Yes,  I 
plead  guilty ;  I  am  poor,  and  so  I  will  be  forever,  unless  I  can 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MOSKOE.  15 

make  a  living  myself — rest  assured  of  that.  Remember,  I  tell 
you  now,  I,  nor  my  wife,  while  she  is  a  wife  of  mine,  nor  a  child 
of  mine,  shall  ever  cost  you  a  dime.'  Your  wife  complained  that 
I  never  told  you  that  I  would  build  in  the  pasture.'  Did  you 
expect  me  to  come  to  you  ?  I  am  charged  with  being  a  ~beast  and 
a  savage,  and  that  I  mistreat  my  wife.  Nannie,  herself,  does  not, 
can  not,  nor  will  not  say  I  ever  spoke  an  unkind  word  to  her. 
She  never  wanted  any  thing  but  what  I  bought ;  never  asked  a 
favor  but 't  was  granted.  The  only  and  greatest  fault  I  ever  found 
with  her,  if  you  call  it  so,  was,  that  she  did  too  much  work.  I 
did  not  want  her  to  wash  and  scrub.  I  wanted  to  get  help,  but 
she  never  would  have  any.  My  crime  is,  after  all,  the  town-talk 
and  tattle.  After  your  wife  threw  it  up  to  me  that  I  was  mad 
because  you  did  not  give  me  a  farm,  etc.,  then  I  refused  to  let 
you  give  me  any  thing.  That  is  my  crime. 

"  Next,  after  your  wife  threatened  to  take  Nannie  home,  begged 
her  to  go,  and  said  that  she  wanted  to  go,  I  told  her,  if  she 
wanted  to  leave  me  to  do  so — that  I  was  perfectly  willing.  Do 
you  suppose  that  I  would  want  her  to  stay  with  me  against  her 
will?  No. 

"But  a  few  more  words  and  I  am  done.  In  the  language  of 
old  Zack  Taylor,  '  I  ask  no  favors  and  shrink  from  no  responsi- 
bilities.' Let  it  be  written  on  my  tomb,  that  I  never  received  a 
cent  from  my  father-in-law.  Never  say  again  that  I  covet  your 
gold.  Remember,  this  is  my  last  resolve,  here  I  will  live  and 
die,  independent  of  you  and  yours. 

"The  world  may  judge  between  us,  the  rest  is  between  us  and 
our  God !  A.  F.  MONKOE." 

The  reader  will  readily  perceive,  from  the  tone  of  the  foregoing 
letter,  the  exasperated  and  goaded  condition  of  the  mind  of  its 
author  at  the  time  it  was  written.  This  unhappy  family  rupture, 
"the  Hiad  of  all  his  woes,"  and  the  fruitful  fountain  of  all  his 
troubles  seems  to  have  wholly  absorbed  the  mind  of  Monroe. 
Devoted  to  his  wife,  and  looking  forward  from  the  inauspicious 
beginning  of  their  union  with  the  most  hopeful  reliance,  that 
family  difficulties  would  soon  be  settled,  and  unjust  prejudices 
soon  eradicated ;  that  this  union  would  be  the  source  of  all  the 


16  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF 

happiness  which  springs  from  conjugal  life,  what  wonder  is  it  that 
finding  the  prospect  overcast  and  promised  joys  suddenly  dashed 
from  his  very  lips,  he  should  express  himself  as  he  does  in  the 
letter  to  Mr.  Ellington?  His  own  house  invaded — his  mother — 
the  widow,  amid  the  folds  of  whose  sable  garments  he  had  nestled 
in  the  hour  of  her  bereavement,  and  who  had  spent  the  energies 
of  her  life  for  him,  insulted  at  his  own  fireside — his  ears  assailed 
every  hour  by  the  taunt,  that  in  his  apparent  regard  for  his  wife 
there  was  no  touch  of  unselfish  affection,  and  that  it  arose  from  a 
desire  to  possess  her  money — denounced  as  a  drunkard  and  a 
spendthrift,  the  subject  of  every  abusive  and  opprobrious  epithet 
that  would  stir  the  blood  to  madness,  it  is  scarcely  a  matter  of 
surprise  that  he  should  have  written  this  letter,  and  concluded  it 
with  the  wild  oath  never  to  receive,  or  allow  his  wife  or  child  to 
receive,  the  smallest  pecuniary  favor  at  the  hands  of  his  wife's 
father.  Had  the  hope  of  gain  been  the  incentive  to  his  marriage, 
never  did  man  display  so  utterly  the  want  of  policy,  so  complete 
an  ignorance  of  that  "fawning  which  is  followed  by  thrift" 
Passionate,  proud  and  self-relying,  he  depended  upon  no  arm  but 
his  own  for  a  livelihood,  and  after  the  grievance's  he  mentions,  it 
would  have  required  much  hardship  and  many  privations  to  have 
brought  him  to  the  acceptance  of  favors  which  he  would  have 
regarded  as  the  badges  of  his  shame. 

Had  he  been  the  possessor  of  that  practical  worldly  wisdom  where 
ends  always  justify  the  means  by  which  they  are  accomplished, 
we  should  have  found  him  in  the  pursuit  of  a  wholly  different 
line  of  policy.  He  would  have  been  humble,  meek  and  submis- 
sive, cultivating  the  art  of  flattery,  echoing  loudly  the  sentiments 
of  others  from  whom  he  expected  advantages,  regardless  of  their 
worth,  and,  finally,  worming  himself  into  the  confidence  and 
affections  of  those  from  whom  he  expected  profit. 

Mr.  Ellington,  at  the  beginning  of  this  sad  chapter  of  human 
weakness,  which  was  to  be  concluded  by  the  tragedy  of  his  own 
death,  was  the  friend  of  Monroe.  Slowly,  however,  by  the 
machinations  of  others,  his  negative  friendship  was  turned  to 
positive  dislike,  and,  in  the  end,  it  was  his  own  violent  conduct, 
prompted,  doubtless,  by  his  unkind  feeling  for  Monroe,  that  lead 
to  his  death.  Alienated  in  feeling,  with  hard  thoughts  and 


ADOLPHUS    F.    MONROE.  17 

unhappy  suspicion  on  each  side,  though  no  one  dreamt  of  a 
tragedy,  such  as  was  about  to  be  enacted,  it  required  but  the 
happening  of  some  trivial  event  to  hasten  the  crisis  which  was 
impending.  That  event  happened  and  the  crisis  came. 

On  the  night  of  the  18th  of  October,  1855,  James  Ellington, 
the  brother-in-law  of  Monroe,  and  Byrd  Monroe,  his  cousin,  had 
an  altercation  in  the  store  of  the  latter,  about  an  account  or  note. 
Monroe's  name  was  mentioned  in  the  course  of  the  dispute,  and 
he,  being  sent  for,  came  to  the  store,  but  took  no  part  in  the  affair 
which  expended  itself  in  words. 

On  the  morning  of  the  19th,  Monroe  was  in  Norfolk's  drug- 
store giving  an  account  of  the  difficulty  of  the  previous  evening. 
He  was  mimicking  Byrd  Monroe's  voice  and  gestures,  and  acting 
the  affair  over  again  in  his  inimitable  style.  He  wound  up  his 
story  with  the  remark  that  the  matter  would  be  settled  that 
morning. 

At  an  earlier  hour  than  usual  he  left  the  drugstore  and  started 
toward  his  boarding-house.  Mr.  Moore,  the  gentleman  at  whose 
house  he  and  his  wife  were  boarding,  happened  to  be  absent  that  day, 
and  Monroe  started  to  the  house  earlier  than  usual,  to  ascertain  if 
Mrs.  Moore  had  a  sufficiency  of  wood  cut,  he  having  previously 
sent  a  boy  to  prepare  as  much  as  she  might  need.  When  he  set 
off  he  took  a  straight  course  from  the  store  to  the  house,  which 
would  lead  him  across  the  public  square  of  the  town.  In  the 
street  he  met  Mr.  Ellington  who  appeared  to  be  much  out  of 
humor.  Inferring  from  the  look  with  which  Mr.  Ellington  met 
him  that  he  was  angry  with  him,  and  apprehending  that  young 
Ellington  had  given  him  an  account  of  the  occurrence  of  the  pre- 
vious evening,  calculated  to  do  him  injustice,  he  desired  to  know 
what  had  been  said,  and,  for  that  purpose,  he  said  to  Mr.  Elling- 
ton: 

"  I  suppose  Jim  told  you  of  his  fuss  last  night  ?  I  was  sent  for 
and  hunted  up  but  did  not  see  that  I  had  any  thing  to  do  with  it ; 
so,  I  only  laughed  at  them."  At  this  Ellington  elevated  his  cane, 
as  if  he  intended  to  strike,  saying  at  the  same  time : 

"  Yes,  you  had  something  to  do  with  it ;  you  puppy !  Byrd 
Monroe  has  been  lying  for  some  time,  and  you  denied  things  you 
have  said  to  him." 


18  LIFE   AND    WRITINGS    OF 

Monroe,  stepping  back  several  paces,  exclaimed,  "  Don't  strike 
me  with  your  cane !  Byrd  Monroe  won't  say  so  !" 

"  He  will !"  replied  Ellington. 

"  He  will  not  /"  persisted  Monroe. 

Mr.  Ellington  then  requested  Monroe  to  go  with  him  to  Byrd 
Monroe's  store.  Monroe,  at  first,  hesitated,  but  being  urged  by 
Ellington  who  called  to  him  to  "  come  on,"  "  come  along,"  he 
went  with  him. 

Arriving  at  the  store  they  found  that  Byrd  Monroe  was  absent. 
Monroe  then  remarked  to  Mr.  Ellington :  "  I  do  not  see  why  you 
should  blame  me  for  every  lie  that  you  hear.  If,  as  you  say,  Byrd 
and  John  Monroe  have  lied,  it  is  no  business  of  mine,  but  is  a 
matter  between  you  and  them.  I  don't  know  any  thing  about  this 
scrape,  care  nothing  about  it,  nor  do  I  want  to  know  any  thing 
about  it — and  I  don't  know  why  in  the  devil  I  am  dragged 
into  it." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  in  the  world  that  you  have  told  forty  lies 
about  it,"  was  the  insulting  reply  of  Ellington. 

"  If  I  have  told  forty"  said  Monroe  excited,  "  you  have  told 
sixty  /" 

"  You  trifling  puppy !  do  you  talk  to  me  in  that  way  ?"  ex- 
claimed Ellington  throwing  out  both  arms  and  running  at  Mon- 
roe, who  retired  several  steps  as  Ellington  approached. 

The  positions  of  the  parties  during  the  conversation  and  at  the 
commencement  of  the  difficulty  were  about  these :  The  store- 
room fronted  on  the  south  side  of  the  street  running  back  north. 
Ellington  was  standing  with  his  back  against  the  counter  running 
along  the  east  side  of  the  room,  with  his  elbow  resting  upon  the 
show-case,  holding  his  cane  in  one  hand  grasped  at  the  middle. 
Monroe  was  standing  near  a  short  counter  on  the  west  side  of  the 
room,  and  perhaps  ten  or  twelve  feet  distant  from  Ellington. 

"When  Mr.  Ellington  advanced  with  his  right  hand  he  grasped 
the  collar  of  Monroe's  coat,  and  with  his  left  seized  him  by  the 
throat,  his  cane  striking  Monroe  a  smart  blow  upon  the  forehead 
and  breaking  the  skin  upon  his  left  hand  as  he  threw  it  up  to 
parry  the  attack  of  his  assailant.  Ellington  who  was  a  much 
larger  and  stronger  man  than  Monroe,  choked  the  latter  back 
upon  the  counter.  At  this  time  Monroe  was  completely  at  the 


ADOLPIIUS   F.    MONROE.  21 

mercy  of  his  antagonist  whose  grasp  upon  his  throat  was  every 
instant  growing  tighter,  and,  as  his  only  resource,  since  none  of 
the  spectators  attempted  to  interfere  and  separate  them,  he  drew  a 
small  pocket  pistol  and  fired,  the  ball  striking  Ellington  upon 
the  forehead  and  glancing  off,  doing  him  but  slight  injury. 

Ellington  then  threw  Monroe  upon  the  floor,  and  springing  upon 
him  began  to  beat,  gouge  and  choke  him  in  the  most  furious  style. 
Monroe  could  easily  have  shot  him  again,  but,  as  he  declared,  the 
thought  of  his  wife  and  child,  and  that  his  assailant  was  the 
father  of  that  wife,  compelled  him  to  forbear.  Desirous  that  no 
further  harm  should  be  done,  he  called  to  the  spectators  to  take 
Ellington  away.  The  only  response  to  his  call  was  made  by  a 
man  named  Eastin,  who  cried  out  to  Ellington :  "  Stamp  him  to 
death !  stamp  his  d — d  guts  out!"  Still  no  one  interfered  to  stop 
the  difficulty. 

At  this  time,  Mr.  Dumas  J.  Van  Deren,  hearing  the  report  of 
the  pistol  that  had  been  fired,  ran  into  the  store.  According  to 
his  statement,  Monroe  was  "  wheezing"  like  a  man  who  is  chok- 
ing to  death.  Van  Deren  immediately  took  hold  of  Ellington, 
calling  out  to  the  bystanders :  "  Let's  part  them !  For  God's  sake, 
gentlemen,  don't  let  them  kill  each  other !"  He  endeavored  to  pull 
Ellington  off,  who  looked  up  to  him  and  said:  "Let  me  kill 
him !  he  has  shot  me !" 

Monroe,  by  a  great  effort  raised  to  his  knee  and  fired  the  second 
pistol,  the  ball  taking  effect  in  Ellington's  heart.  At  the  report 
of  the  second  pistol,  Ellington  yielded  to  Van  Deren,  who  walked 
with  him  to  his  office.  Monroe  made  no  attempt  to  escape, 
declared  he  was  ready  to  stand  his  trial,  and  was  immediately  ar- 
rested and  placed  in  prison.  Ellington  lingered  until  the  28th, 
nine  days  after  the  fatal  affray,  when  he  died. 

Monroe  was  brought  before  an  examining  court  and  the  result 
was  that  he  was  committed  for  trial  at  the  ensuing  regular  term 
of  the  Circuit  Court  for  Coles  County. 

With  the  death  of  Ellington  began  that  feeling  of  violence  and 
lawlessness  which  finally  resulted  in  the  murder  of  Monroe.  For 
many  years  the  clerk  of  the  Circuit  Court,  acquainted  with  almost 
every  man  in  the  county,  rich  and  consequently  influential,  it  is 
not  to  be  wondered  that  great  excitement  prevailed  when  his  death 
2 


22  LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF 

was  announced  ;  many  and  loud  were  the  threats  of  violence  to  the 
prisoner,  and  it  was  greatly  feared  by  his  immediate  friends  and 
by  the  law-abiding  portion  of  community  that  his  case  would  be 
wrested  from  the  properly  constituted  tribunal,  and  decided  by  the 
mob. 

The  prisoner,  plunged  immediately  in  jail,  could  not  tolerate  the 
prospect  of  a  long  and  tedious  confinement  and  preferred  death 
itself  to  his  lonely  incarceration.  Conscious,  as  he  declared  him- 
self, of  his  innocence,  and  satisfied  in  his  own  mind  that  that  in- 
nocence would  be  established  could  he  secure  for  himself  an 
impartial  trial,  he  determined  to  insist  upon  a  change  of  venue  in 
his  case,  and  he  asked  for  a  special  term  of  the  court  to  consider 
his  application. 

The  court  was  held  on  Monday,  January  14th,  1856.  So  great 
was  the  tumult  in  the  community  when  it  was  understood  that  an 
application  was  to  be  made  to  have  the  case  tried  in  another  county ; 
so  loud  the  threats  of  certain  violence  by  the  agitators  who  had 
resolved  that  upon  such  an  application  being  made,  they,  being 
well  aware  that  under  the  circumstances  it  could  not  be  refused, 
he  should  forthwith  be  hanged,  that  the  prisoner  and  his  counsel 
were  powerless  and  when  the  court  met,  the  trial  was  taken  up 
without  any  allusion  to  the  proposed  motion.  Here  then  we  see 
a  man,  under  the  external  show  of  justice,  placed  at  the  bar,  to 
pass  through  the  semblance  of  a  fair  trial,  the  issue  of  which  was 
life  or  death,  surrounded  by  hundreds,  who,  with  glaring  eyes 
and  eager  hands,  stood  around  about  him  already  resolved  that 
he  should  die!  What  a  mockery!  What  a  shameful  wicked 
mockery ! 

We  proceed,  however,  without  further  comment  to  give  the  pro- 
ceedings of  the  court,  merely  asking  the  candid  and  careful  atten- 
tion of  the  reader  to  the  evidence,  and  with  perfect  reliance  that 
he,  unawed  by  a  mob  and  uninfluenced  by  that  stange,  wild  and 
ungovernable  excitement  which  pervades  all  communities  at  times, 
can,  at  the  conclusion,  but  render  a  verdict  of  "  not  guilty!" 


THE    TRIAL. 


ON  Monday,  at  2  o'clock,  p.  M.,  the  court  was  called  to  order, 
Judge  Harlan,  presiding.  After  the  selection  of  a  grand  jury  had 
been  made,  and  they  had  received  their  charge  from  the  bench, 
the  court  adjourned. 

TUESDAY  15^A,  10  o'clock,  A.  M. 

Court  was  opened.  The  grand  jury  returned  into  court  having 
found  the  indictment  against  the  prisoner  "  a  true  bill." 

Court  adjourned  until  2  o'clock,  p.  M. 

2  o^clock  same  day. — The  court  was  re-organized  and  a  jury 
empanneled,  after  which  the  court  adjourned  until  10  o'clock  next 
morning. 

WEDNESDAY  16tfA,  10  o ^  clock,  A.  M. 

The  court  was  opened  at  the  time  appointed.  The  jury  was 
brought  down,  and  the  prisoner  brought  into  court  and  placed  at 
the  bar. 

A.  Kitchell,  prosecuting  attorney.  Capt.  "William  E.  Sims  and 
Hon.  O.  B.  Ficklin,  appeared  for  the  prosecution.  Gen.  W.  F. 
Linder,  appeared  for  the  defense. 

The  prosecution  proceeded  to  examine  their  witnessess.  The 
first  one  called  was 

JOHN  WILKINSON,  who  testified  as  follows : — "  I  have  known  the 
prisoner  since  last  June ;  knew  Mr.  Ellington  ;  I  arrived  here 
from  California  on  the  14th  of  last  June ;  was  often  in  Monroe's 
company ;  he  kept  a  drugstore  in  this  place ;  have  frequently  seen 
.him  carry  two  small  Minnie  pistols.  (Here  a  pistol  was  exhibited 
to  the  witness.)  This  is  one  of  the  pistols  he  carried  or  one  just 
like  it. 

By  the  prosecution. — "  State  if  you  ever  heard  Monroe  make 
threats  against  Nathan  Ellington." 

Witness. — "1  will  go  back  to  the  time  I  came  here;    heard 

23 


24  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF 

him,  about  the  second  day  after  my  return,  speak  of  the  Ellington 
family  ;  heard  him  do  so  almost  daily  afterward,  so  that  I  came  to 
pay  very  little  attention  to  him ;  have  frequently  heard  him  say 
that  Ellington  was  an  old  thief,  an  old  coward,  and  a  d — d  old 
rascal ;  that  Mrs.  Ellington  was  an  old  prostitute.  Have  heard 
him  say  he  would  give  fifty  dollars  to  any  one  who  would  go  and 
tell  Ellington  what  he  said  about  his  wife,  as  he  wanted  a  diffi- 
culty with  him.  One  night  previous  to  the  difficulty,  Monroe  had 
a  conversation  with  me  in  reference  to  the  Ellington  family.  I 
told  him  Ellington  was  the  last  man  he  should  have  a  difficulty 
with.  He  then  pulled  out  two  Minnie  pistols,  and  said  he  had 
bought  them  for  Jim  and  the  old  man,  and  intended  to  use  them. 
Heard  nothing  more,  particularly,  until  the  morning  of  the  diffi- 
culty. There  had  been,  the  evening  previous,  a  difficulty  between 
Byrd  Monroe  and  Jim  Ellington.  Dolph  was  in  the  drugstore 
that  morning,  talking  about  the  Ellingtons,  as  usual,  what  he 
would  do.  I  told  Monroe  this  was  an  old  story  and  all  fol-de-rol ; 
he  said  the  matter  would  be  settled  that  morning.  Just  then  Mr. 
Ellington  came  walking  out  of  his  office  on  the  foot- logs  toward 
the  drugstore.  Monroe  left  the  drugstore  and  met  Ellington. 
Some  conversation  ensued,  and  they  agreed  to  go  to  Byrd  Mon- 
roe's store.  I  expected  there  would  be  a  difficulty  and  followed 
after  them  to  see  fair  play.  After  they  went  into  the  store  some 
conversation  passed  between  them  about  previous  circumstances. 
Ellington  said  it  was  no  use  to  hunt  up  Byrd  and  John  Monroe, 
as  he  had  been  to  them  before,  and  they  had  always  sustained 
what  he  said,  and  denied  what  Dolph  said.  Monroe  replied,  that 
he  had'nt  lied,  and,  if  others  had,  he  did'nt  see  why  he  should 
be  brought  into  it.  George  Monroe,  then  said,  '  You  must  not  say 
they  have  lied  !'  Ellington  then  remarked  '  Dolph,  you  know  you 
have  told  forty  lies  upon  me  and  my  family.'  Monroe  replied,  'If 
I  have  told  forty,  you  have  told  sixty.'  Ellington,  at  this,  said, 
'  You  must  not  talk  so  to  me,  young  man  !'  putting  his  hand  upon 
his  shoulder.  Monroe  then  stepped  back,  drew  his  pistol  from 
his  right  pocket  and  fired,  the  ball  giving  a  flesh  wound  on  the 
upper  part  of  Ellington's  forehead  ranging  upward  and  outward. 
Ellington  seized  hold  of  Monroe  pushing  him  against  the  counter, 
and  partly  on  it,  I  think.  Then  they  scuffled  down  on  the  floor , 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONKOE.  25 

Some  one  called  out:  'Take  him  off!'  Ellington  was  on  the 
top  of  Monroe,  confining  his  left  hand  in  which  he  held  the  other 
pistol. 

(The  witness  here  described  to  the  jury  the  position  in  which 
the  parties  were  at  the  beginning  of  the  affray  and  throughout  the 
struggle,  and  hia  relative  position  to  them  during  the  time.) 

"  Duinas  Yan  Deren  ran  in  at  this  time,  and  catching  hold  of  El- 
lington, partly  pulled  him  off  of  Monroe  and  broke  his  grasp  on 
Monroe's  hand,  and  then  the  pistol  fired.  Mr.  Ellington  then  ap- 
peared to  be  enraged  and  more  determined  to  hurt  Monroe,  com- 
mencing to  beat  him  in  earnest.  Ellington  and  Monroe  were 
separated  and  the  latter  ran  out.  I  said :  '  For  God's  sake,  don't 
let  him  escape ;  he  has  killed  Ellington !'  I  then  went  to  the 
bank  and  found  Eastin  guarding  him." 

In  reply  to  a  question,  witness  said  he  was  about  twenty  feet 
from  them  when  they  met  on  the  street,  but,  the  conversation  being 
carried  on  in  an  under  tone,  he  could  not  hear  what  they  said,  ex- 
cept Ellington  remarked  that  they  would  go  over  to  Byrd  Monroe's 
store.  Witness  also  stated,  in  reply  to  a  question,  that  Ellington 
stated  to  Monroe  that  he  had  previously  brought  him  before  Byrd 
and  John  Monroe  and  they  had  always  sustained  his  (Ellington's) 
statement.  Witness  also  stated  that  when  Ellington  told  Monroe 
he  had  told  forty  lies  on  him  and  his  family,  Monroe  said,  "  If  I 
have  told  forty  lies,  you  have  told  sixty,"  stepping  back  and  partly 
pulling  out  the  pistol  in  his  right  pocket,  so  as  to  disclose  two 
thirds  of  it,  which  he,  the  witness,  then  saw.  When  the  pistol  was 
discharged,  they  were  very  close  together,  face  to  face,  Ellington 
near  or  against  the  counter,  and  Monroe  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  Monroe  stepped  back  very  much  excited,  and  as  Elling- 
ton put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  or  took  him  by  the  collar,  the  pistol 
immediately  fired.  The  pistol  was  fired  as  Monroe  was  against  the 
counter,  though  he  was  not  on  it  then.  This  occurred  (witness 
thinks)  on  the  19th  of  October  last.  Ellington  pushed  Monroe 
partly  on  the  counter,  his  feet  hanging  off. 

(Witness  here  described  to  the  jury  the  position  of  the  counter 
and  of  the  room  and  the  doors  of  the  store.) 

"  They  scuffled  from  the  counter  to  the  floor  and  were  near  the 
middle  door.  Witness  said  John  Eastin,  James  Fallen  and  Geo. 


26  LIFE   AND   WEITINGS    OF 

Monroe  were  there  ;  and  that  Dumas  Van  Deren  and,  perhaps,  one 
or  two  others,  came  in  after  the  first  pistol  was  fired.  Witness  was 
seven  or  eight  feet  from  the  parties  when  the  second  pistol  was  fired ; 
saw  the  pistol  two  or  three  times  in  Monroe's  left  hand  while  El- 
lington held  it.  When  the  second  pistol  was  fired,  Ellington  was 
pretty  much  on  his  feet.  When  Yan  Deren  pulled  Ellington 
partly  off  they  were  in  front  of  witness.  When  Van  Deren  pulled 
Ellington  it  broke  his  hold  on  Monroe's  hand,  and,  then,  the 
second  pistol  was  fired.  Ellington  then  began  to  choke  and  gouge 
Monroe,  who  cried,  'Murder!  take  him  off!'  There  was  no  out- 
cry from  either  of  the  parties  until  after  the  firing  of  the  second 
pistol.  Witness  saw  Ellington  strike  no  blow  previous  to  the 
firing  of  the  second  pistol." 

(Witness  here  stated  that  Monroe's  pistols  were  self-cocking 
and  could  be  discharged  by  striking  on  the  hammer  or  pulling  the 
trigger.) 

Cross  examined : — "The  second  pistol  was  fired  before  Yan 
Deren  parted  them.  Witness  was  not  noticing  them  all  the 
time,  as  he  sometimes  had  his  eyes  on  George  Monroe.  When 
Ellington  had  Monroe  down  Yan  Deren  broke  his  hold.  Didn't 
see  Ellington  gouge  Monroe  before  the  second  pistol  was  fired. 
Some  twenty  seconds,  perhaps,  intervened  between  the  two  fires. 
After  the  first  pistol  was  fired,  they  scuffled  on  the  counter  and  on 
the  floor.  About  this  time  George  Monroe  came  running  up  with 
a  pistol  in  his  hand  ;  witness  pushed  him  back  and  told  him  to  let 
them,  alone ;  witness  thought  he  was  going  to  shoot  Eastin,  and 
intended  to  eat  him  up  alive  if  he  did.  Ellington  was  taken  off 
almost  immediately  after  the  firing  of  the  second  pistol.  George 
Monroe  called  out  to  part  them  and  some  one  said,  '  No  !  let  him 
stamp  his  d — d  guts  out!'  Witness  don't  know  who  made  this 
remark,  but  thinks  it  was  Eastin. 

"Monroe  was  running  on  in  the  drugstore  the  morning  of  the 
difficulty,  and  witness  told  him  it  was  an  '  old  song ;'  witness  had 
heard  SD  much  he  was  tired  of  it.  About  this  time,  Monroe  drank 
freely  and  would  generally  have  liquor  in  him,  and  when  Elling- 
ton's name  was  mentioned  he  would  become  excited.  Witness 
frequently  heard  him  say,  if  Ellington  crossed  his  path  he  would 
kill  him,  and  has  heard  other  similar  threats.  Monroe  said,  he 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONROE.  27 

had  been  told  they  were  going  to  tar  and  feather  him,  and  by 
G — d,  if  they  came  for  that  purpose,  they  would  meet  a  warm  re- 
ception. A  great  many  times  when  witness  had  gone  into  the 
drugstore,  Monroe  would  be  running  on  about  Ellington.  Wit- 
ness would  tell  him  this  was  an  old  song ;  that  he  had  heard  it  so 
often  he  was  tired  of  it,  and  believed  it  meant  nothing.  When 
Monroe  said ;  '  this  difficulty  shall  be  settled  this  morning,'  he  was 
addressing  himself  perhaps  to  Hackett,  but  witness  don't  know. 
Monroe  said,  '  D — n  Ellington's  old  soul,  he  is  afraid  to  come  out 
and  meet  me,'  and  said,  in  reply  to  a  remark  of  witness,  '  never 
mind,  this  difficulty  will  be  settled  this  morning.'  There  has  been 
no  difficulty  between  Monroe  and  witness.  Monroe  said,  in  this 
conversation,  that  Jim  Ellington  would  brag.  Witness  replied, 
that  Jim  Ellington  was  a  d — d  coward,  or  he  would  have  killed 
him  (Monroe)  before  now ;  and  that  Jim  ought  not  to  brag  after 
he  (Monroe)  left  here.  In  regard  to  the  boys  making  mention  of 
the  Ellington  family,  to  hear  Monroe  talk  about  them,  witness 
knows  he  never  did  it.  When  witness  saw  Ellington  in  the  street 
he  had  his  cane  in  his  hand  ;  it  was  a  walking-stick  of  pretty  good 
size ;  witness  did  not  see  Ellington  wave  his  cane  as  if  to  strike, 
nor  did  witness  hear  Monroe  say,  'Don't  strike  me  with  your 
cane,  Mr.  Ellington.'  In  the  conversation  at,  Byrd  Monroe's  store, 
Monroe  said,  '  By  G-d !  if  I  have  told  forty  lies,  you  have  told 
sixty !'  As  well  as  witness  remembers,  Monroe's  back  was  against 
the  counter;  witness  did  not  see  precisely  how  Ellington  held 
Monroe ;  when  Van  Dereii  took  hold,  to  separate  them,  Monroe 
was  on  the  floor,  under  Ellington,  with  his  face  downward.  After 
the  second  pistol  was  fired,  Ellington  took  hold  of  Monroe  in 
earnest,  and  Monroe  began  to  cry,  'Murder!  take  him  off!'  etc. 
Witness  did  not  see  Mr.  Cole  in  the  store  at  this  time,  and  does 
not  remember  saying  to  any  one,  '  let  them  alone  !  another  pistol 
will  be  fired !' 

"  In  answer  to  the  question  why  he  didn't  let  George  Monroe  go 
up,  witness  said  it  was  because  he  saw  George  had  a  pistol  in  his 
hand,  and  besides,  after  seeing  Ellington  have  Monroe  by  the  hand, 
he  knew  Monroe  couldn't  shoot  him.  Has  frequently  heard  Monroe 
say  he  would  give  fifty  dollars  for  a  difficulty.  Monroe  was  in 
the  habit  of  carrying  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  When  the  second 


28  LIFE   AND    WKITINGS    OF 

pistol  was  fired  witness  didn't  see  Monroe  use  it.     Monroe  drew 
the  first  pistol  from  his  right  pocket." 

JOHN  EASTIN. — "Have  known  Ellington  since  1830,  and  Mon- 
roe for  five  or  six  years ;  have  heard  Monroe  have  many  talks 
about  Ellington  and  family  for  several  months  before  the  affray ; 
Monroe  would  become  very  much  excited  on  such  occasions ; 
would  say  how  the  difficulty  between  them  came  about  and  curse 
the  family,  sometimes  one  member  of  it  and  sometimes  another ; 
would  say  that  Mrs.  Ellington  was  a  d — d  old  bitch  ;  that  she  led 
Ellington  by  the  nose  and  wanted  to  lead  him  (Monroe).  These 
conversations  were  quite  common.  He  said  he  had  made  Elling- 
ton eat  his  own  words  and  G — d  d — n  his  old  soul  if  ever  he 
crossed  his  path  he  would  kill  him.  Witness  had  talked  to  Monroe 
frequently,  and  told  him  he  was  doing  Ellington  injustice.  He 
would  reply  that  Mrs.  Ellington  led  her  husband  by  the  nose ; 
would  curse  and  threaten  Ellington,  and  say,  if  such  and  such 
things  happened,  he  would  kill  him.  Witness  told  him  that  El- 
lington would  not  notice  his  talking  around,  but,  if  he  went  to  El- 
lington and  talked  in  this  style,  that  Ellington  would  slap  him,  and 
then  Monroe  would  kill  him  and  this  would  be  the  end  of  it. 
Monroe  would  swear  he  was  prepared  and  would  kill  him.  Mon- 
roe had  two  pistols  ;  have  seen  him  shooting  these  pistols  in  the 
back  part  of  the  drugstore,  but  heard  no  threats  at  such  times ; 
saw  him  shooting  three  or  four  times,  perhaps  oftener.  On  one  occa- 
sion, when  witness  and  others  were  in  the  second  story  of  the  drug- 
store, Monroe  had  been  telling  his  troubles,  when  Ellington  came 
out  of  his  office ;  seeing  him,  he  took  out  his  pistols,  saying,  '  You 
d — d  old  s-n  of  a  b — h;  it  would  do  me  good  to  blow  you 
through !'  This  occurred  two  or  three  weeks  before  the  affray,  per- 
haps longer.  Witness  frequently  heard  the  prisoner  talk  of  his 
troubles.  He  was  always  excited  and  said  he  was  badly  treated 
by  all  the  family  except  Lizzie ;  thinks  he  always  excepted  her ; 
can't  name  any  particular  day  on  which  he  made  threats  ;  it  was 
so  common  an  affair,  that  the  boys  would  frequently  laugh  about 
it,  and  Dick  Norton  would  sometimes  say, '  Hold  on,  boys  ;  Dolph 
will  soon  be  in  and  branch  out  on  the  Ellington  family.'  On  the 
evening  previous  to  the  killing,  there  had  been  a  difficulty  between 


ADOLPIIITS   F.    MONROE.  29 

Jim  Ellington  and  Byrd  and  Dolph  Monroe  about  something., 
which  led,  witness  supposes,  to  this  affair.  Dolph  Monroe  and 
Ellington  went  over  to  the  court-house  and  talked  the  matter  over 

o 

and  left  in  pretty  good  humor.  Next  morning  witness  was  in  the 
drugstore,  when  Dolph  came  in  a  good  deal  excited  about  the 
difficulty  of  the  previous  evening.  Shortly  after  Monroe  quit 
talking  about  the  matter,  Ellington  came  out  of  his  office  and 
walked  across  the  street  toward  the  drugstore.  The  prisoner  went 
out  and  met  him  about  the  middle  of  the  street.  Witness  expected 
a  difficulty  and  went  out  to  the  post  on  the  sidewalk.  Monroe 
spoke  to  him,  but  witness  did  not  hear  what  he  said.  Ellington 
seemed  to  be  offended  and  a  little  excited ;  he  was  walking  with 
his  cane,  and  partly  raising  it  up,  he  said,  '  You  puppy,  don't  talk 
to  me  that  way !'  The  prisoner  said,  'Byrd  Monroe  said  so,'  and 
Ellington  replied,  'Byrd  Monroe  will  not  say  so.'  Witness 
thought,  from  the  movements  of  both  parties,  that  Ellington  had 
a  notion  to  strike  Monroe.  Dolph  said,  '  Byrd  Monroe  will  say 
BO,'  when  Ellington  replied,  '  Let's  go  to  the  store,  and  Byrd  will 
say  no  such  thing.'  They  then  started,  Monroe  rather  reluctantly, 
witness  thought.  Witness,  expecting  a  difficulty,  followed.  Byrd 
was  not  in.  Ellington  said :  '  I  have  been  with  you  to  Byrd  and 
John  before,  and  they  always  sustained  my  statements.'  Monroe 
replied,  that  he  didn't  see  why,  if  others  lied,  he  should  be  brought 
into  the  scrape.  They  talked  on  and  became  more  calm.  Witness 
thinks  Wilkinson,  Fallin  and  John  Monroe,  onty,  were  in  at  the 
time.  Witness  stepped  out  to  see  a  man,  and  as  he  got  out  on  the 
pavement  heard  short  words ;  turned  to  go  back  and  heard  the 
first  pistol ;  ran  in  and  saw  Ellington  have  hold  of  Monroe 
against  the  counter.  In  the  scuffle,  Ellington  threw  Monroe  near 
to  the  back  door.  George  Monroe  came  running  up  once  or  twice 
with  a  pistol,  and  witness  pushed  him  back.  Monroe  was  rather 
on  his  hands  and  knees,  and  Ellington  on  him,  as  witness  thought. 
Dumas  Van  Deren  ran  in  at  this  time,  saying:  'Don't  let  the 
men  kill  each  other  !'  He  grasped  Ellington,  partly  took  him  off, 
and,  then,  rather  let  him  go,  at  which  time  the  second  pistol  was 
fired.  Witness  did  not  see  the  pistol  before  during  the  affray,  but 
saw  one  afterward.  Witness  caught  Monroe  and  held  him  until 
he  got  to  the  front  door,  at  which  place  he  let  him  go.  Ellington 


30  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF 

then  said,  'Don't  let  that  man  escape!'  Witness  went  out  after 
him  and  found  him  at  the  bank.  He  seemed  to  be  considerably 
scratched  and  bruised.  Witness  told  him  to  remain  until  the 
sheriff  came,  and  the  prisoner  replied,  that  he  didn't  want  to  es- 
cape. The  sheriff  came  and  arrested  him.  The  injuries  done  to 
Monroe's  eyes  were,  for  the  most  part,  done  after  the  second  pistol 
was  fired,  and  witness  heard  no  hallooing  from  Monroe  until  after 
the  second  fire." 

Cross  examined : — "  Mr.  Ellington,  in  the  conversation  before 
the  drugstore,  proposed  to  go  to  Byrd  Monroe's  ;  prisoner  rather 
hesitated,  when  Ellington  said, '  come  along,'  and  they,  then,  went 
over  walking  side  by  side.  Monroe  would  frequently  tell  over  his 
troubles,  sometimes  speaking  of  one  thing  and  sometimes  of  an- 
other ;  would  frequently  speak  of  things  somebody  had  told  him. 
He  seemed  to  think  he  had  been  badly  treated  ;  said  Ellington  had 
refused  to  pay  for  a  set  of  china  which  he  had  bought  for  his  (Mon- 
roe's) wife.  He  seemed  to  think  it  hard  that  Mrs.  Ellington  had 
ordered  his  mother  from  his  own  house.  Never  heard  him  say  El- 
lington had  threatened  to  tar  and  feather  him.  Have  heard  him  say 
Ellington  was  a  liar ;  that  he  had  so  and  so,  and  that  he  (Monroe) 
had  called  on  him  and  made  him  take  his  words  back ;  that  had 
he  not  taken  them  back  he  would  have  blown  him  through.  In 
the  scuffle  on  the  floor,  Monroe's  face  was  turned  toward  the  floor ; 
Ellington  seemed  to  be  gouging  him.  Monroe  did  not  cry  out 
until  the  second  pistol  was  fired,  after  which  Ellington  seemed 
anxious  to  hurt  him.  The  second  pistol  was  fired  after  Yan  Deren 
had  partially  parted  them.  The  whole  affray  lasted,  probably,  a 
minute.  George  Monroe  ran  up  and  cried,  '  Fair  play !'  Witness 
said, '  Let  them  alone,  let  him  stamp  his  guts  out !'  Said  this  after 
the  first  fire  and  before  the  second.  George  Monroe  came  up  with 
a  pistol  in  his  hand.  I  never  saw  Ellington  strike  or  kick  Mon- 
roe ;  thought  he  was  gouging  or  choking  him  ;  never  heard 
Monroe  call  out  for  help  until  after  the  second  pistol  was  fired. 
In  the  conversation  between  Ellington  and  Monroe  on  the  street, 
Ellington  raised  his  cane  as  if  about  to  strike ;  I  heard  the  re- 
mark, '  You  shan't  talk  to  me  that  way,  you  puppy.'  Monroe  had 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  stepping  back,  said,  '  Byrd  Monroe 
had  said  so  and  so,  and  would  say  so.'  Ellington  replied  that 


ADOLPHDS   F.    MONROE.  31 

'  Byrd  Monroe  wouldn't  say  so,'  and  then  said,  '  let's  go  over  to 
Byrd's,'  and  Monroe  seemed  to  go  rather  reluctantly.  In  the 
threats  which  Monroe  would  make,  he  would  say  if  Ellington  dis- 
puted his  word  he  would  do  so  and  so.  Witness  would  tell  him 
that  Ellington  wouldn't  mind  his  talking  around  the  streets,  but 
if  he  went  to  Ellington  and  talked  that  way  to  him  he  would  slap 
him  over,  and  Monroe  would  reply,  that  if  he  did  he  would  blow 
him  through.  Witness  don't  know  that  he  ever  heard  prisoner 
say  that  he  intended  to  attack  Ellington  and  kill  him.  Monroe 
would  generally  speak  as  though  he  would  go  and  make  Ellington 
acknowledge  so  and  so,  and  if  he  didn't  he  would  kill  him.  Has 
heard  him  say  all  he  asked  of  them  was  to  be  let  alone,  and  that 
if  it  were  not  for  Mrs.  Ellington  he  could  get  along.  Witness 
knows  of  Monroe  preparing  to  move  away  from  here ;  has  advised 
him  to  take  his  wife  and  go  away,  and  that  they  would  then  live 
happily.  He  talked  as  if  he  intended  to  go  away.  Witness  don't 
remember  any  threats  after  his  making  preparations  to  leave.  In 
these  conversations,  he  would  say  he  intended  to  protect  his  mother  ? 
and  to  take  her  with  him  wherever  he  went.  Witness  told  him 
not  to  take  his  mother  as  that  would  not  satisfy  Mrs.  Ellington. 
Monroe  said  Ellington  had  lied  on  him,  and  he  had  made  him 
take  it  back,  and  that  if  he  had  not,  taken  it  back,  he  would  have 
killed  him." 

JAMES  W.  FALLIN. — "  Was  present  at  the  difficulty .  Saw  El- 
lington and  Monroe  talking  on  the  street,  near  the  drugstore,  but 
couldn't  hear  what  they  said.  They  went  from  the  street  to  Byrd 
Monroe's  drugstore  and  witness  followed.  Heard  Monroe,  at  the 
store,  say  to  Ellington,  '  You  did  say  so,  or  Byrd  Monroe  lies.' 
Ellington  said,  '  You  have  told  forty  lies  on  me  and  my  family,'  and 
Monroe  replied,  '  If  I  have  told  forty,  by  G — d,  you  have  told 
sixty  !'  Ellington  then  put  his  hand  on  Monroe's  shoulder  and  said, 
'  Young  man,  you  must  not  talk  to  me  in  that  way !'  and,  perhaps, 
gave  him  a  push.  Monroe  fired ;  Ellington  then  took  hold  of 
him ;  had  him  on  the  counter  first,  and  then  on  the  floor.  About 
this  time,  Dumas  Van  Deren  ran  in,  and,  taking  hold  of  Elling- 
ton partly  pulled  him  off.  The  second  pistol  was  fired.  When 
witness  first  saw  them  talk  in  the  street,  they  were  directly  west 


LIFE    AND    WHITINGS    OF 


of  Ellington's  office.  Could  not  hear  what  they  said,  except 
something  about  going  over  to  Byrd  Monroe's  store.  Witness 
was  then  on  the  door-sill.  Monroe  said  in  the  store,  to  Ellington, 
'  You  shouldn't  blame  me  for  Byrd's  lies,'  and  then  Ellington  told 
him  he  had  told  forty  lies ;  to  which  Monroe  replied,  '  If  I  have 
told  forty,  by  G — d,  you  have  told  sixty,'  stepping  back  with  both 
hands  in  his  pockets.  At  this  Ellington  laid  his  hand  on  him, 
perhaps  giving  him  a  little  push,  and  then  the  first  pistol  was  fired. 
Monroe  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  counter  and  Ellington 
faced  him.  When  the  pistol  fired,  Ellington  merely  put  his  hand 
on  his  shoulder.  Witness  could  not  describe  the  scuffle,  he  was 
BO  much  excited ;  Ellington  was  on  top ;  didn't  see  their  hands. 
Yan  Deren  caught  Ellington  by  the  back  and  pulled  him  nearly 
straight  up  and  then  the  second  pistol  was  fired.  After  the  second 
pistol  was  fired,  don't  remember  any  more  scuffling,  didn't  see  the 
pistol,  don't  remember  any  outcry." 

Cross  examined : — "  Didn't  see  Monroe  when  Ellington  had 
him  down.  Yan  Deren  separated  them  just  after  coming  in." 

At  the  request  of  Gen.  Linder,  John  Eastin  was  recalled. — 
"  Ellington  was  a  large  and  very  stout  man ;  witness  once  con- 
sidered himself  stout,  and  Ellington  could  always  handle  him. 
Ellington  could  handle  Monroe  very  easily;  he  weighed  about 
two  hundred  pounds,  and  his  health  had  never  been  impaired. 

E.  S.  NORFOLK. — "Knew  the  prisoner ;  knew  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  carrying  a  couple  of  small  Minnie  pistols  (a  small  pistol 
was  exhibited  to  witness,  which  he  said  was  like  Monroe's). 
Don't  know  when  he  got  them  ;  knew  he  had  them  five  or  six 
weeks  before  the  killing.  He  always  kept  them  loaded,  and  have 
seen  him  shoot  at  a  mark  with  them  in  the  back  room  of  the 
drugstore.  He  shot  them  frequently,  and  would  always  load  them. 
Never  heard  him  make  direct  threats  ;  have  heard  him  say  if  ever 
Ellino-ton  brought  the  hands  over  to  tar  and  feather  him  he  would 

O  O 

hurt  them.  Monroe  said,  they  had  denied  so  and  so,  and  if  they 
had  acknowledged  that  they  had  said  so  and  so,  he  would  have 
hurt  them.  Never  heard  any  direct  threats  more  than,  if  Elling- 
ton crossed  his  path,  he  would  hurt  him.  Have  heard  Monroe 
talk  this  way  perhaps  every  day,  and  sometimes  several  times  a 


ADOLPHITS   F.    MONKOE.  33 

day.  He  would  always  become  excited  when  he  talked  of  the 
difficulties  between  him  and  the  Ellingtons." 

Cross  examined : — "  Was  with  Monroe  in  the  drugstore  every 
day,  and  never  heard  him  make  a  direct  threat ;  it  was  always 
conditionally.  Have  heard  him  say  he  always  intended  to  act  on 
the  defensive,  but  he  would  branch  off." 

The  counsel  for  the  prisoner  asked  the  witness  if  it  was  not  cus- 
tomary for  young  men  about  town  to  carry  pistols  ?  To  this  ques- 
tion objection  was  made  by  the  attorney  for  the  State,  and,  the 
point  having  been  discussed,  the  court  sustained  the  objection. 

R.  H.  NORFOLK. — "  Knew  that  Monroe  carried  pistols  before 
the  encounter  with  Ellington  ;  he  carried  them  in  the  pockets  of 
his  pantaloons.  Thinks  he  usually  had  his  hands  in  his  pockets  ; 
thinks  he  had  the  pistols  two  or  three  months  before  the  difficulty 
with  Ellington ;  have  heard  him  say  if  Ellington  ever  crossed  his 
path  he  would  hurt  him ;  he  did  not  say  he  would  kill  him ;  have 
heard  him  curse  him,  say  he  was  a  d — d  low  rascal  and  use  other 
similar  epithets.  Never  heard  him  say  he  would  shoot  or  kill  him. 
I  once  told  him  that  Ellington  could  whip  him,  and  he  replied  that 
he  could  shoot  Ellington  before  he  could  get  to  him  ;  have  heard 
him  say  he  ached  to  get  into  a  difficulty,  with  him  ;  have  heard 
him  say  this  often  ;  he  shot  his  pistol  off  frequently,  though  per- 
haps not  daily.  Monroe  and  witness  were  partners  in  the  drugstore 
up  to  a  few  weeks  before  the  killing ;  witness  was  in  the  drugstore 
the  morning  before  Ellington  was  killed,  and  Monroe  was  there 
firing  his  pistol ;  said  he  was  going  to  get  Mr.  Ellington,  Jim  El- 
lington and  Byrd  Monroe  together,  and  he  would  hurt  some  of  them 
yet.  The  morning  of  the  difficulty,  Monroe  said  something  about 
some  one  having  lied.  Witness  saw  Monroe  and  Ellington  meet  on 
the  street.  Monroe  said  nothing  when  he  went  out  of  the  drug- 
store to  meet  Ellington.  He  said,  that  morning,  he  would  make 
some  of  them  swallow  the  lie.  Witness  didn't  think  he  was  in 
earnest.  Didn't  hear  any  thing  they  said  on  the  street ;  saw  no 
cane  drawn  by  Ellington  ;  didn't  know  which  of  them  proposed 
going  to  Byrd  Monroe's  store.  Never  heard  Monroe  say  he  drank 
to  raise  his  courage." 

Cross  examined: — "  Never  heard  Monroe  make  a  direct  threat." 


34  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OE 

The  witness  was  asked  if  he  had  ever  heard  Monroe  say  he  only 
intended  to  defend  himself?  He  replied  :  "  The  prisoner  told  me 
one  day,  '  I  intend  to  defend  myself.' ': 

J.  E.  WYCHE. — "  Some  three  or  four  weeks  before  the  killing 
of  Ellington,  Monroe  commenced  a  conversation  with  me  on  the 
street  in  reference  to  a  business  transaction  between  us.  It  was 
near  Compton  &  Mount's  store.  Monroe  requested  me  to  go  into 
the  shed  part  of  the  store  where  we  sat  down.  The  prisoner  said : 
'  Wiche,  I  am  a  little  drinking  to-day,  you  see ;  and  I  am  so  on 
purpose ;  I  want  a  difficulty  with  Mr.  Ellington  ;  the  Ellingtons 
have  called  me  a  coward,  and  I  intend  to  show  them  I  am  not 
afraid  of  them.'  Witness  then  told  the  prisoner  nobody  thought 
him  a  coward,  but,  if  it  would  gratify  him,  he  might  tell  Ellington 
he  was  not  afraid  of  him,  and  there  drop  it ;  that  Ellington  was  the 
last  man  on  earth  he  should  kill ;  and  represented  to  him  the  un- 
pleasant position  in  which  it  would  place  his  wife,  she  being  El- 
lington's daughter.  To  all  this  prisoner  seemed  to  assent.  Wit- 
ness told  him  as  he  had  now  sold  out,  he  had  better  leave  Charleston, 
as  he  thought  they  could  not  live  pleasantly  there.  Monroe  said  he 
intended  to  leave,  but,  before  he  went,  he  was  going  to  show  Elling- 
ton that  he  was  no  coward.  Prisoner  said  there  was  no  difficulty 
between  himself  and  his  wife,  and  seemed  to  censure  Mrs.  Ellington 
more  than  any  one  else ;  said  that  Mrs.  Ellington  forbade  his  own 
mother  to  come  to  his  house ;  said  he  should  always  defend  his 
mother,  she  had  been  such  a  good  friend  to  him  ;  and  that  he  could 
not  desert  her  to  please  anybody.  Monroe  went  on  to  enumerate 
various  grievances,  but  he  did  not  say  he  intended  to  attack  or  kill 
Ellington.  Said  he  wanted  a  difficulty  with  him ;  that  the  Elling- 
tons had  said  he  was  a  coward,  and  he  intended  to  show  them  that 
he  was  not.  Mr.  Monroe  seemed  a  good  deal  moved  during  the 
conversation,  and,  before  its  close,  shed  tears  freely." 

Cross  examined : — "  Never  heard  Monroe  say  he  intended  to  at- 
tack or  kill  Ellington.  This  conversation  occurred  three  or  four 
weeks  before  the  killing  of  Ellington,  and  witness  never,  on  any 
other  occasion,  heard  Mr.  Monroe  say  any  thing  about  Mr.  Elling- 
ton or  his  family." 

Court  adjourned  to  10  o'clock,  next  day, 


ADOLPIIUS   F.    MONROE.  37 


THURSDAY  ITitA,  10  d*  clock,  A.  M. 
Court  met  and  proceeded  with  the  evidence  for  the  prosecution. 

STANLEY  B.  WALKER.  —  "Was  not  present  at  the  difficulty; 
don't  remember  any  direct  threats  ;  has  heard  Monroe  say  he 
would  do  so  and  so,  under  certain  circumstances  ;  heard  him  say 
so  once  at  the  store,  Bledsoe  and  others  being  present  ;  can't 
state  word  for  word  what  he  said  ;  he  was  talking  about  the  Elling- 
ton family,  for  good  reasons,  as  he  thought  ;  he  said  that  Mrs.  El- 
lington was  a  long  tongued  old  b  —  h,  and  that  probably  there  would 
be  a  difficulty,  and  that,  if  Ellington  ever  struck  him  or  began  a 
difficulty,  he  would  kill  him.  Monroe  talked  a  great  deal,  and 
witness  paid  but  little  attention  to  him,  passing  it  lightly  by.  He 
showed  no  weapons  in  this  conversation  ;  can't  remember  any 
thing  further  ;  can't  tell  just  when  this  conversation  occurred  ; 
don't  remember  how  long  before  the  killing." 

Cross  examined  :  —  "Don't  remember  how  many  were  in  the 
store  when  Monroe  came  in  and  commenced  talking  about  the  El- 
lingtons ;  Monroe  said,  in  this  conversation,  he  had  heard  they 
were  going  to  tar  and  feather  him  ;  and  he  further  stated  that  he 
had  said  what  he  had  said  that  it  might  go  to  Mr.  Ellington. 
Bledsoe  said  he  was  the  last  man  that  would  take  it.  Monroe 
said  the  Ellingtons  had  made  some  threats  against  him,  but  wit- 
ness don't  remember  just  what  they  were.  Monroe  said  he  would 
do  something,  but  witness  don't  remember  what,  if  Ellington  did 
so  and  so  to  him.  This  was  sometime  before  the  affray,  but  wit- 
ness don't  remember  the  precise  time.  It  was  before  witness  went 
to  Springfield,  which  was  about  the  first  of  October,  but  can't  say 
how  Ions'  before/ 

*  * 

By  counsel  for  the  prisoner  :  —  "  Didn't  Monroe  say,  in  that 
conversation,  all  he  asked  of  them  was  to  be  let  alone?" 

Witness  :  —  "  I  don't  remember  his  saying  so  then,  but  he  has 
told  me  that  since  the  conversation." 

J.  V.  BROWN.  —  "  Heard  Monroe  a  month  or  so  before  the 
affray,  one  Sunday,  talking  of  Mrs.  Ellington.  He  said  she  was  a 
d  —  d  whore,  a  d  —  d  thief,  and  a  d  —  d  liar  ;  that  Mr.  Ellington  and 
Jim  were  both  cowards  ;  that  he  intended  to  provoke  them,  and, 
if  they  resisted,  shoot  them  down.  He  said  if  they  insinuated 


38  LIFE   AND    WRITINGS    OF 

that  he  lied  he  would  shoot  them  down.  Witness  did  not  see  any 
weapons.  Monroe  spoke  of  a  conversation  that  Byrd  Monroe  and 
he  had  had  with  Mr.  Ellington  in  reference  to  something  which  oc- 
curred at  Wabash  Point.  Have  heard  Monroe  make  other  similar 
threats  at  other  times  ;  have  heard  him  say  something  about  giv- 
ing any  one  fifty  dollars  to  get  Jim  Ellington  in  a  fuss,  but  is  not 
positive  about  it." 

Cross  examined  by  counsel  for  prisoner : — "  Did  not  Monroe 
say  he  would  give  fifty  dollars,  with  reference  to  the  report  that  he 
was  to  be  tarred  and  feathered  ?" 

Witness : — "  Monroe  did  say  they  were  going  to  tar  and  feather 
him,  and  that  he  would  give  fifty  dollars  if  they  would  undertake 
it.  This  conversation  occurred  a  week  or  so  before  the  State  Fair. 
Monroe  and  wife  were  living  together  at  the  time  of  the  affray, 
between  him  and  Ellington." 

JOHN  MORTON. — "  Had  heard  no  particular  threats,  and  knew 
nothing  particularly  about  the  affair." 

Mr.  Ficklin,  for  the  prosecution,  stated  he  had  had  no  conversa- 
tion with  the  witness,  and  asked  him  if  he  knew  for  what  he  was 
called? 

The  witness  did  not  and  was  directed  to  leave  the  stand. 

DENNIS  F.  HANKS. — "Lives  over  the  drugstore;  has  heard 
Monroe  many  times  speak  of  the  Ellington  family  very  improperly, 
but  heard  him  make  threats  but  once.  He  said  he  wished  some 
of  his  friends  would  get  Ellington  out  so  that  he  could  kill  him ; 
this  was  some  three  or  four  weeks  before  the  killing;  did  not 
remember  having  heard  him  make  threats  at  any  other  time. 
Prisoner  was  very  much  excited  when  he  spoke  of  killing  Elling- 
ton. Witness  knew  Mr.  Ellington  before  he  was  married ;  has 
heard  Monroe  speak  of  Mrs.  Ellington  in  a  way  a  gentleman 
should  not,  but  don't  remember  his  words.  He  never  said  much 
about  Mr.  Ellington,  but  that  he  blamed  Mrs.  Ellington  more 
about  their  difficulties." 

MRS.  HANKS. — "  Lives  over  the  drugstore.  Has  heard  Monroe 
make  threats ;  he  was  generally  excited ;  he  said,  if  Ellington 
crossed  his  path  he  would  kill  him ;  said  he  wished  somebody 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONROE.  39 

would  tell  Ellington  of  this,  and  that  if  Ellington  would  come  out 
he  would  kill  him,  and  that  he  wanted  to  kill  him.  He  seemed 
at  times  to  be  drinking  and  perfectly  crazy." 

Cross  examined: — "Heard  these  threats  a  good  time  before  the 
affray,  some  six  or  eight  weeks ;  never  heard  any  subsequent  to 
the  coming  together  of  Monroe  and  wife  after  their  separation." 

J.  B.  BLEDSOE. — "  Don't  remember  ever  to  have  heard  Monroe 
threaten  to  kill  Ellington.  Have  heard  him  say  he  was  a  s-n  of  a 
b — h,  a  d — d  old  s-n  of  a  b — h.  Witness  has  known  him  three  or 
four  years,  and  during  that  time  Monroe  has  carried  arms.  "Wit- 
ness has  seen  his  little  white-handled  pistols." 

The  prosecution  having  rested  their  case  at  this  point,  the  first 
witness  called  for  the  defense  was 

DUMAS  VAN  DEREN. — "  "Witness  was  in  the  street,  and,  hearing 
the  report  of  a  pistol  in  Byrd  Monroe's  store,  ran  in.  Saw  Elling- 
ton on  a  man  who  was  on  the  floor ;  witness  thought  it  was  Byrd 
Monroe ;  the  man  was  wheezing.  "Witness  exclaimed,  '  For  God's 
sake,  don't  let  him  kill  the  man  !'  and  ran  up  and  took  hold  of  El- 
lington. Mr.  Ellington  looked  up  at  witness  and  said,  '  Don't 
take  me  off;  he  has  shot  me,  let  me  kill  him  !'  The  man  under 
Ellington  was  then  calling  out,  '  Murder  !  take  him  off!'  Witness 
did  not  succeed  in  taking  him  off  this  time,  and  it  was  just  about 
this  time  that  the  second  pistol  was  fired.  Witness  took  hold  of 
Ellington,  who  then  yielded  to  him,  and  witness  saw  that  he  was 
shot  and  the  clothes  on  his  breast  burning.  Ellington  walked  over 
to  his  office.  The  shot  seemed  a  smothered  one.  It  was  a  few 
seconds  from  the  time  witness  first  took  hold  of  him  before  he 
finally  took  him  off.  The  second  pistol  was  fired  sometime  after 
witness  got  into  the  store.  Ellington  appeared  very  much  excited, 
and  seemed  to  be  beating  or  choking  Monroe." 

Cross  examined: — "  When  witness  first  took  hold  of  Ellington, 
the  latter  looked  up  to  him  and  said,  '  Don't  take  me  off;  he  hae 
shot  me,  let  me  kill  him  !'  Witness  did  not  see  the  pistol  at  all. 
Monroe  hallooed  before  the  second  pistol  was  fired.  Don't  know 
when  Ellington's  grasp  was  loosened  ;  did  not  see  Ellington  have 
hold  on  Monroe's  hand.  Monroe  was  breathing  as  if  he  was  dying. 
Did  not  see  where  Ellington  had  hold  of  Monroe,  but  heard  Mon- 


40  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF 

roe  make  a  noise  as  though  he  was  strangling.  There  was  not 
much  done  after  the  second  pistol  was  fired." 

DR.  HENRY. — "  Was  sent  for  to  see  Monroe  some  time  after  the 
affray ;  was  called  to  see  his  eye ;  it  seemed  to  be  badly  gouged 
or  scratched ;  it  was  not  much  swollen  then,  but  was  considerably 
so  when  I  next  saw  him  ;  saw  some  bruises  on  his  forehead." 

GEORGE  RUPERT. — "Don't  know  much  about  this  matter;  was 
in  his  grocery  and  some  one  came  in  and  said  there  had  been  a 
fight  in  Monroe's  store.  Witness  went  over  to  the  store.  Mon- 
roe had  no  hat  on ;  I  saw  a  hat  over  back  of  the  counter ;  George 
Monroe  picked  it  up  and  handed  it  to  the  prisoner  who  put  it  on  ; 
the  hat  was  eight  or  ten  feet  from  the  end  on  the  west  side." 

DR.  FERGUSON — "  The  first  ball  struck  the  upper  part  of  Elling- 
ton's forehead  and  then  ranged  upward  and  outward,  cutting  the 
skin  and  passing  off  without  inflicting  serious  injury.  Mr.  El- 
lington died  the  ninth  day  after  he  was  shot  from  the  effect  of  his 
wounds." 

t 
WILLIAM  GILMAN. — "  Saw  the  parties  a  short  time  before  the 

affray  sitting  in  the  west  door  of  the  court-house,  and  observed 
nothing  angry  between  them  at  that  time.  Supposed  they  had 
made  up,  and  was  glad  to  see  it." 

JAMES  McORORY. — "  Monroe  was  brought  into  my  office  directly 
after  the  affray.  His  left  eye  was  pretty  badly  gouged  and  he  had 
some  marks  on  his  throat  which  he  said  smarted.  Ellington  was 
as  stout  as  Monroe  and  witness  both;  he  was  a  very  stout  man, 
indeed." 

MR.  COLE. — "  Was  in  the  street,  and,  hearing  a  pistol  fired,  ran 
into  Byrd  Monroe's  store  ;  saw  the  parties  on  the  floor,  Ellington 
having  Monroe  under  his  arm.  Heard  somebody  say,  '  Part  them !' 
but,  as  witness  did  not  know  how  many  more  pistols  were  to  be 
fired,  he  didn't  go  up.  The  second  pistol  was  fired  while  Elling- 
ton held  Monroe  under  his  arm.  As  witness  stepped  in,  the 
second  pistol  went  off  and  the  man  under  Ellington  made  a  noise 
as  if  he  were  choking.  Did  not  hear  anybody  say, '  Take  him  off!' 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONROE.  4:1 

Never  saw  either  of  the  parties  before  or  since.     Don't  know 
whether  the  prisoner  here  is  the  man  or  not,  but  supposes  he  is." 

Cross  examined: — "As  witness  got  there,  the  prisoner  was  on 
the  floor,  near  the  counter  when  the  second  pistol  was  fired.  "Was 
standing  before  Winchester  &  Smith's  hardware  store  when  the 
first  pistol  was  fired." 

It  was  here  announced  to  the  court  that  the  evidence  on  that 
side  was  exhausted,  and  the  prosecution  not  desiring  to  offer  any 
further  testimony  the  court  adjourned  until  the  afternoon. 

The  argument  began  on  Thursday  afternoon  and  lasted  until  5 
o'clock,  P.  M.,  the  following  Saturday. 

There  was  no  report,  not  so  much  as  a  synopsis  of  the  argument 
of  counsel  made  at  the  time,  and  the  reader  must,  therefore,  par- 
don the  omission  in  this  work. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  last  speech  for  the  prosecution,  the 
instructions  were  read  and  delivered  to  the  jury,  and  they  were 
instructed  to  retire  and  consider  the  case.  In  the  mean  time,  the 
court  adjourned,  with  directions  to  the  jury  that  should  they  agree 
upon  a  verdict  to  inform  him  of  it,  through  the  officer  in  charge 
of  them,  and  he  would  take  the  bench  to  receive  it. 

The  jury  were  in  their  room  about  two  hours,  when  the  ringing 
of  the  court-house  bell  announced  the  fact  that  they  were  about  to 
return  into  court.  Between  the  time  of  the  ringing  of  the  bell 
and  the  delivery  of  the  verdict,  what  suspense  there  was  !  To  the 
prisoner  it  was  more  awful  than  a  fire-bell  in  the  night  to  the 
startled  citizens  ;  or  softer  and  sweeter  than  a  wedding  chime,  to 
the  expectant  bridegroom,  as  his  fears  or  hopes  alternately  sunk 
or  elated  his  heart. 

The  judge  took  his  seat  on  the  bench  and  ordered  the  jury  to  be 
brought  into  court.  They  came  into  a  chamber,  filled  with  human 
forms,  yet  as  silent  as  a  vault  for  the  dead.  His  honor  asked  if 
they  had  agreed  upon  a  verdict.  The  reply  was,  "  "We  have !"  and 
the  foreman  of  the  jury  said,  "  "We,  of  the  jury,  find  the  prisoner 
guilty  as  charged  in  the  indictment !" 

The  court  addressing  each  juryman  in  turn  until  the  question 
had  been  proposed  to  all,  asked,  "  Is  that  your  verdict  ?"  and  each 
of  them  replied,  "  It  is  !" 

The  court  then  adjourned  until  Monday. 


42  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS    OF 

MONDAY,  January  21, 1856,  10  o'clock,  A.  M. 
The  court  having  met  pursuant  to  adjournment,  the  counsel  for 
the  prisoner  made  a  motion  for  a  new  trial.  The  motion  was  dis- 
cussed by  the  counsel  on  both  sides.  At  the  conclusion  of  the 
argument  the  judge  remarked,  that  one  of  the  instructions  did  not 
read  exactly  as  he  thought  it  did,  and,  as  he,  at  that  time,  had 
doubts  of  its  legality,  he  would  take  until  10  o'clock  the  next  day, 
to  examine  the  law  and  reflect  about  it  ;  and  that  if  he  found  the 
instruction  to  be  erroneous,  a  new  trial  would  be  freely  granted. 

TUESDAY,  January  22,  10  o*dock,  A.  M. 

The  court  met  and  the  prisoner  was  placed  at  the  bar.  His 
honor  remarked  that  if  the  counsel  in  the  case  had  no  other  sug- 
gestion to  make  in  reference  to  the  motion  for  a  new  trial,  he  was 
ready  now  to  dispose  of  it.  Nothing  being  said,  the  court  pro- 
ceeded to  give  the  result  of  his  investigations,  and  concluded  by 
remarking  that,  as  the  instruction  given,  was,  in  his  opinion, 
legal,  the  motion  would  be  overruled,  and  if  the  prisoner  or  his  coun- 
sel had  nothing  to  say  to  the  contrary,  he  would  proceed  to  pass 
the  sentence  of  the  law.  Having  been  informed  that  the  prisoner 
had  nothing  to  say,  the  court  proceeded  in  this  way  to  pronounce 

THE  SENTENCE. — "It  now  only  remains  for  me  to  pass  the  sen- 
tence of  the  law  upon  you.  That  sentence  is,  that  you  be  remanded 
to  jail  to  be  kept  in  safe  custody  until  the  15th  day  of  next  Febru- 
ary, upon  which  day,  between  the  hours  of  10  A.  M.  and  2  p.  M., 
you  will  be  taken  hence,  by  the  sheriff,  to  some  convenient  spot, 
and  there  hanged  by  the  neck  until  you  are  dead !  May  the  Lord 
have  mercy  in  your  soul !'' 

Immediately  after  the  sentence  had  been  passed  upon  him,  the 
prisoner  was  remanded  to  jail,  and  the  court  adjourned. 

It  was  Monroe's  intention  to  have  delivered  the  following  speech 
when  he  should  be  brought  up  to  receive  the  sentence.  At  the 
earnest  solicitation  of  his  counsel,  however,  he  omitted  to  pro- 
nounce it.  It  was  afterward  published,  under  his  directions,  at 
Paris,  and  circulated  through  the  country.  We  give  it  without 
alteration  as  one  of  the  parts  of  the  melancholy  drama,  believing 
that  the  reader  is  entitled  to  a  hearing  of  the  whole  case,  and  that 
it  may  greatly  serve  in  the  elucidation  of  the  subject. 


MONROE'S    SPEECH. 


SIR: — YOUR  HONOR — 

GENTLEMEN  AND  LADIES — I  arise  before  you,  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life,  to  attempt  to  make  a  speech,  and  if  I  should  blunder, 
or  seem  to  be  confused  and  agitated,  let  it  be  attributed  to  its 
true  cause,  to  the  natural  agitation  of  the  young  and  inexperienced 
speaker,  and  not  to  my  present  unfortunate  position,  or  to  fear.  I 
do  not  expect  or  intend  to  make  a  finished  speech.  Such  is  not  my 
province,  for  I  am  neither  practiced  nor  experienced  in  the  art.  I 
simply  wish  to  say  a  few  words  to  you,  as  the  last  evidence  of  a 
dying  man.  I  wish  now  to  take  my  place  on  the  stand  as  a  witness 
in  this  case,  and  give  in  my  testimony  for  the  sake  of  truth  and 
posterity  when  I  am  gone ;  and  to  enter  up  before  this  court,  this 
people,  the  world  and  before  high  Heaven,  my  solemn  protest 
against  this  awful  mockery ! 

"  On  the  19th  day  of  October  last,  I  was  arrested  and  cast  into 
prison,  on  a  charge  of  the  murder  of  Nathan  Ellington,  my  father- 
in-law.  The  excitement  was  great ;  so  great,  that,  by  the  advice 
of  my  counsel,  I  was  not  present  at  the  examination,  a  circum- 
stance, which,  however  necessary  and  prudent,  I  shall  ever  regret. 
My  counsel  was  forced  there  to  pledge  himself  not  to  change  the 
venue  !  the  mob  threatening  that  if  I  ever  attempted  it,  I  should 
be  mobbed  and  murdered  anyhow ;  that  I  should  be  tried  here, 
and  even  if  cleared,  they,  the  mob,  would  hang  me,  whether  I  be 
innocent,  or  whether  I  be  guilty !  A  pleasant  and  agreeable  pros- 
pect, truly!  Even  thus  early  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution 
betrayed  a  knowledge  of  the  weakness  of  their  case,  and  that  if 
I  was  ever  tried  out  of  this  county  I  would  be  most  surely  acquitted. 
From  the  first  I  have  been  denied  even  the  common  privileges  of 
the  law.  Now,  it  does  seem  to  me  that  the  law  which  can  not 
protect  a  man,  should  not  condemn  him.  Laws  should  be  made 
to  protect  the  innocent  as  well  as  to  punish  the  guilty:  and  no 
man  should  be  tried  by  a  law  for  his  life,  liberty  or  property,  unless 

43 


44:  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS   OF 

that  law  can  protect  him  while  he  is  a  prisoner.  For  weeks 
after  I  was  committed  to  prison,  I  was  threatened  by  a  mob.  The 
forces  were  to  be  collected  even  from  other  counties.  Cut  off  so 
suddenly  from  the  world,  and  shut  out  from  the  sweet  sun-light  of 
day ;  deprived,  at  once,  of  liberty  and  the  presence  and  society  of 
iny  friends ;  denied  even  the  dear  sweet  privilege  of  being  with 
my  wife  and  child,  and  the  natural  endearments  of  love  and  the 
joys  and  delights  of  home  and  domestic  peace  and  happiness,  I 
grew  impatient  of  restraint  and  confinement,  and,  contrary  to  the 
advice  of  my  counsel,  called  a  court  that  I  might  have  either  a 
speedy  trial,  or  a  change  of  venue,  as  might  seem  best ;  and  that, 
if  compelled  to  change  the  venue,  my  trial  might  come  on  at  the 
usual  time  in  the  spring  instead  of  having  to  be  laid  over  until 
fall.  The  laws  of  my  country  gave  me  a  right  to  a  change  of 
venue,  or  to  put  off  my  trial,  as  I  chose,  but,  in  this  case,  both 
have  been  denied  me  by  the  mob.  All  of  this  time  I  had  no  power 
of  course  to  meet  and  mingle  with  the  world  or  to  hear  and  answer 
any  of  the  charges  made  against  me. 

"  The  court  came  on.  My  witnesses,  the  most  important  'ones, 
at  least,  were  not  here  and  could  not  be  here  in  time.  The  excite- 
ment was  still  so  great  that  1  was  at  once  advised  to  apply  for  a 
change  of  venue.  This  the  mob  again  refused  to  allow ;  and  my 
counsel,  having  been  forced  by  the  mob  to  pledge  himself  never  to 
change  the  venue,  had  to  go  out  of  the  case,  or  seem  to  do  so,  at  least 
as  far  as  this  court  and  county  were  concerned.  But  my  friends,  who 
attended  to  matters  for  me,  employed  Thomas  F.  Marshall,  of 
Kentucky,  to  defend  me.  Owing,  however,  to  the  condition  of  the 
Ohio  River,  he  was  unable  to  reach  here.  I  then  concluded,  by 
lander's  advice,  to  put  the  trial  off  until  Spring,  and  then  change 
the  venue  if  necessary.  On  Tuesday  morning,  however,  I  was 
informed,  by  Linder  and  the  sheriff,  that  there  was  a  band  of 
ruffians  and  murderers  in  the  town,  with  a  drum  and  flying  colors, 
determined  to  murder  me  if  I  attempted  either  to  change  venue  or 
put  off  my  trial.  Again,  I  suffered  myself  to  be  overruled  by  my 
friends,  and  consented  to  a  trial,  rather  the  outside  form  of  one, 
and  the  result  has  been  as  all  predicted,  and  as  all  knew  it  would 
be.  I  was,  of  course,  convicted  and  now  stand  before  you  ready 
to  receive  the  sentence. 


ADOLPIIUS    F.    MONROE.  45 

"  Be  it  so  !  I  can  meet  my  fate  with  a  smile,  for  my  heart  is 
at  peace  and  my  conscience  is  clear.  I  have  my  faults  like  other 
men.  I  am  a  child  of  impulse,  as  all  who  know  me  can  testify ; 
and,  when  excited,  apt  to  speak  harshly  and  threaten  my  best 
friend — and  five  minutes  after  ask  his  pardon  and  entrust  him 
with  the  dearest  secrets  of  my  heart.  But,  in  all  of  this  affair, 
whatever'  errors  I  have  committed  have  been  caused  and  brought 
on  by  that  love  and  adherence  to  those  very  feeling  and  principles 
which  all  good  and  true  men  hold  most  sacred  and  dear — pride 
of  character,  independence,  love  of  courage  and  honor.  I  may 
have  been,  perchance,  foolish  and  imprudent.  I  may  have  been 
too  hasty  and  impatient  in  resenting  a  wrong  and  returning  an 
insult,  too  open  in  my  manner,  and  rash  and  unguarded  in  my 
speech  and  deportment ;  yet,  I  know  that  my  motives  have  been 
good  and  my  intentions  pure.  My  conscience  tells  me  that  I  am 
far  more  unfortunate  than  criminal,  far  more  sinned  against  than 
sinning.  I  regard  both  Ellington  and  myself  as  rather  the  victims 
of  circumstances,  and  the  malice  and  machination  of  others,  than 
to  any  faults  of  our  own. 

"  The  world  is  ever  ready  to  pull  down  and  trample  upon  the 
unfortunate,  and  there  are  those  who  now  triumph  over  me  and 
gloat  upon  my  misfortunes,  who  are  far  more  guilty  in  His  eyes 
than  I  am.  They  have  succeeded  in  bringing  desolation  and  ruin 
upon  happy  homes  and  hearts,  and  grief  and  sorrow  to  loving 
hearts  that  never  wronged  them — for  which  they  yet  shall  answer 
terribly  in  time  or  in  eternity. 

"There  are  always  spirits  in  any  community  so  low  and  grovel- 
ing in  their  natures,  that  they  can  not  rise  above  the  base  feelings 
of  malice  and  envy,  and  who  can  not  bear  to  see  another  prosper, 
particularly  if  he  is  so  unfortunate  asto  be  poor,  and  too  proud 
and  independent  to  stoop  to  fawn  upon  and  natter  them — without 
seeking,  by  every  means  in  their  power,  however  low  and  base, 
to  abuse  and  injure  them,  stooping  even  to  the  foulest  slander 
and  lies  of  the  darkest  hue  to  every  thing  mean  and  servile  to 
accomplish  their  object,  which,  when  accomplished,  does  them 
no  good,  except  to  gratify  their  depraved  minds,  passions  and 
appetites. 

"  There  is  always  a  feverish  desire  in  the  public,  particularly 


46  LIFE   AND    WHITINGS    OF 

among  the  lower  and  baser  classes,  to  see  a  fellow  being  suffer 
and  to  convict  him,  right  or  wrong,  when  once  in  the  strong  clutches 
of  the  law — a  kind  of  fiendish  pleasure  and  excitement  in  seeing 
a  neighbor  fall  degraded.  It  is  a  spirit  worthy  the  scorn  and  con- 
tempt of  all  honest  men.  '  T  is  the  same  fell  spirit  that  prompted 
the  Jews  to  cry  out  against  our  Saviour,  "  Crucify  him  !  Crucify 
him  !"  Let  a  man  be  but  once  unfortunate,  and  the  world  is  ever 
ready  to  pull  him  down,  to  sink  him  lower  and  lower,  and  to  stamp 
and  trample  upon  him  while  he  is  weak  and  helpless.  Who  does 
not  know  and  has  not  seen,  even  in  the  canine  species,  that  when 
once  poor  Tray  is  down  he  is  set  upon  and  torn  to  pieces  by  the 
whole  pack  of  hounds  ?  Alas !  for  me,  like  poor  Tray,  I  have  some- 
times been  caught  in  bad  company. 

"Such  has  been  the  evident  determination  in  my  case  from  the 
first.  I  blame  not  the  judge;  for,  though  the  old  and  valued 
friend  of  the  deceased,  he  has  conducted  this  trial  with  a  fairness 
and  moderation  for  which  I  thank  him — from  my  inmost  heart  I 
thank  him.  I  blame  not  the  counsel  of  the  opposite  side;  two  of 
them,  at  least,  have  shown  great  delicacy  and  forbearance.  My 
counsel  has  done  all  that  could  be  done — all  that  man  could  do, 
and  more  perchance,  than  any  other  man  could  have  done.  But 
all,  of  course,  was  in  vain.  An  angel  from  heaven — a  messenger 
from  God — could  not  have  changed  the  decision  in  this  case. 
What  counsel — what  law — what  court  could  conquer  or  govern  a 
mobl  What  jury  could  dare  bring  in  a  verdict  of  acquittal  under 
such  instructions,  and  in  the  face  of  such  a  mass  of  frowning  brows 
and  scowling  countenances,  ferociously  demanding  blood  to  havo 
their  blood  -thirsty  appetites  appeased?  Indeed,  I  suppose  it  was 
a  fortunate  thing  for  me  and  for  the  honor  and  the  memory  of  the 
county  forever  that  I  was  not  acquitted  by  that  jury,  for  I  would 
have  been  instantly  murdered  by  a  band  of  ruffians  and  mur- 
derers— God  knows  who  or  wherefrom — who  were  there  (so  '  t  is 
said  by  the  officers  themselves)  in  the  court-room,  ready  and  pre- 
pared with  a  rope  to  murder  me  if  not  convicted  of  a  capital 
offense.  My  God !  can  Coles  county  be  sunk  so  low,  so  lost  to  all 
morality,  decency  and  honor?  Whence  comes  this  hord  of  law- 
less scoundrels?  Are  they  of  this  county?  Are  there  any  respect- 
able men  and  citizens  even  of  his  friends  and  relatives,  among 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONKOE.  47 

them  ?  I  hope  not.  The  common  murderer  who  goes  out  at  mid- 
night and  raises  his  single  arm  against  his  sleeping  foe,  and 
plunges  the  assassin  dagger  into  the  heart  of  his  unconscious 
victim,  is  a  brave  and  honorable  man — a  Christian — when  com- 
pared to  him  who  leagues  with  a  mob,  composed  perhaps  of 
hundreds,  to  murder  a  single,  unarmed,  weak  and  helpless  prisoner, 
already  in  the  merciless  hand  of  the  law !  Of  all  crimes,  of  all 
murders  this  is  the  most  foul  and  horrible — the  most  hellish  and 
cowardly ! 

"I  feel  indebted  to,  and  indeed  thank  all  of  the  counsel  for 
the  prosecution,  for  their  moderation  and  fairness,  except,  be  it 
forever  remembered,  except  the  Honorable  Orlando  Obediah 
Bustamente  De  La  Ficklin,  Esq.,  who  seems  to  have  been  spe- 
cially hired  and  paid  to  lie  and  slander,  rail  and  abuse  in  this 
case.  In  truth,  he  seems  fully  competent  to  the  task !  His  con- 
science must  indeed  be  seared,  and  his  heart  hardened,  for  he 
seemed  utterly  regardless  of  all  human  sympathy  and  feelings — 
of  all  truth  and  honor !  Truly,  as  he  remarked,  there  was  but 
'  one  heart '  in  all  that  family  that  ever  received  and  welcomed  me. 
True  it  is  too,  that  heart  has  never  failed  me!  never  faltered 
or  fallen  from  me !  'jT 'is  mine  yet!  all  mine!  notwithstanding  he 
so  pathetically  alluded  to  the  '  beautiful,  worthy  and  accomplished 
young  lady  who  had  so  unfortunately  married  the  prisoner !' 
Beautiful  she  is,  and  worthy,  far  more  worthy  than  beautiful ! 
Worthy  !  aye  far  worthier  than  such  a  soul  as  his  could  ever  honor 
or  appreciate  !  Go  to  her  to-day,  and  ask  her  whom  she  censures 
in  all  this  sad  affair,  whom  she  thinks  the  guilty  parties  ?  Go.  ask 
her  if  she  ever  blamed  me  even  for  an  instant  or  ever  had  cause 
to  regret  our  union  ?  and  if  she  does  not  answer  in  my  favor, 
freely  and  fully,  and  say  that  the  love  and  trust  that  is  burning  in 
her  heart  for  me  this  day,  even  as  I  stand  here  convicted  of  the 
murder  of  her  father,  is  glowing  with  a  far  higher,  purer  and 
holier,  more  lasting,  deep,  fond,  confiding  and  tender,  deathless 
and  undying  love,  than  it  was  upon  our  bridal  morn — then,  I 
am  a  murderer  ! 

"  Go,  ye  who  seek  for  vengeance,  to  those  who  have  done  this 
deed!  Ye  who  are  crying  'blood  for  blood!'  and  demanding  a 
victim,  go,  if  ye  would  find  and  punish  the  guilty  parties,  go  seek 


48  LIFE    AKD    WRITINGS    OF 

them  elsewhere.  His  Hood  is  not  upon  my  hand !  Oh  !  if  ye 
really  wish  to  know  who  are  the  true  criminals,  who  are  his  true 
murderers,  then  go,  in  God's  name,  I'd  bid  you  go,  seek  them 
nearer  home ;  you  will  find  them  there !  Ay !  as  my  counsel 
said,  '  there  is  an  under  current  and  a  mystery  in  all  this  affair, 
which  the  world  may  never  know — but  had  her  evidence  been 
admitted  here  all  would  have  been  as  open  and  as  bright  as  day. 
But  God  forbid  that  I,  even  in  self-defense,  should  drag  out  the 
secret  of  this  family  difficulty.  Some  day  all  may  and  all  will 
be  known  ;  and  long  after  I  am  gone,  when  the  green  grass  shall 
wave  above  my  lowly  tomb,  when  the  trees  shall  have  budded  and 
blossomed  and  the  leaves  withered  and  fallen  again  and  again, 
and  when,  one  by  one,  all  those  present  shall  have  passed  away, 
after  long  years,  't  will  be  said, '  Dolph  Monroe  fell  unjustly !'  that 
4  he  was  foully  and  cruelly  murdered  and  by  those  who  were  the 
guilty  parties,  by  those  who  have  caused  and  brought  on  this  whole 
affair — and  by  those  who  have  hunted  him  down  and  sworn  his 
life  away.' 

"  But  a  tone,  a  word,  a  memory  of  my  fate  shall  hang  forever 
upon  the  viewless  air,  with  a  curse,  a  bitter  curse,  and  haunt  them 
throughout  all  time  and  eternity ;  wring  their  false  hearts,  shake 
their  craven  souls,  weigh  down  their  guilty  consciences  with 
remorse  and  regret,  and  drag  them  down  to  hell  forever. 

"On  the  12th  day  of  December,  1853, 1  was  married  to  Nannie 
Ellington,  with  whom  I  lived  most  happily,  and  with  whom  I  could 
live  most  happily  forever,  for  she  is  truly  amiable,  good  and  pure 
— worthy  of  all  man's  best  affection,  all  love  and  praise.  But, 
alas  !  difficulties  soon  arose,  dark  and  fierce,  between  her  relatives 
and  mine ;  and  finally  between  her  and  mine,  and  her  relatives 
and  myself.  "What  they  were,  I  will  not  now  state  or  drag  to 
light.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  between  her  and  myself  all  was  peace, 
harmony,  confidence  and  love ; — and,  right  here,  I  will  state  a 
fact  which  may  take  some  by  surprise  and  seem  strange,  yet  it  is 
no  less  true  than  strange ;  notwithstanding  it  was  sworn  to  here 
in  court  in  evidence  and  the  world  regarded  it  so,  there  never  was 
a  separation  between  me  and  my  wife.  She  was  at  her  father's 
house  just  a  week,  but  't  was  a  pre-arranged  affair  between  us, 
known  and  understood  between  ourselves.  I  only  mention  this, 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONKOE.  49 

however,  as  an  evidence  of  the  fallacy  and  frailty  of  human  knowl- 
edge aud  testimony — for  it  matters  riot  either  way. 

"  Numerous  threats  have  been  sworn  to  here,  some  true  and  some 
false — all  false,  in  the  words  and  spirit  with  which  remembered 
and  delivered.  I  never  made  any  threats  against  Ellington  except 
on  the  condition  of  being  attacked  by  him  and  in  self-defense ; 
and  as  warnings  in  answer  to  threats  of  theirs.  I  often  said  I  did 
not  blame  Ellington  so  much  as  I  did  others,  and  always  said,  I 
only  asked  to  be  let  alone ;  and  in  threatening,  I  usually  used  the 
word  'them,'  instead  of  '  him,'  as  all  know. 

"  On  the  night  of  the  18th  of  October  last,  James  Ellington  and 
Byrd  Monroe  had  a  quarrel  about  some  accounts,  during  which 
the  young  man,  I  suppose,  got  into  a  tight  place,  and,  coward-like, 
shuffled  the  affair  off  upon  his  father's  shoulders — but  for  which 
base  and  dastardly  act  his  father  would  have  been  upon  the  earth 
to-day.  My  name  too  was  called  upon  that  night  by  the  young 
man  during  the  quarrel,  and  I  was  sent  for  and  hunted  up,  but 
took  no  part  in  the  difficulty.  The  next  morning,  the  19th  of  Oc- 
tober, and  the  one  upon  which  the  fatal  tragedy  occurred,  I  was  in 
the  drugstore  and  was  giving  an  account  of  the  manner  in  which 
Byrd  Monroe  had  talked  to  James  Ellington,  mimicing  Byrd  Mon- 
roe's voice  and  gestures,  when  he  told  Jim  that  he  'could  find 
twenty  or  fifty  men  who  could  swear  that  he  could  not  tell  the 
truth  ;'  and  I  remarked  that  they  were  going  to  get  together  that 
morning  and  I  supposed  that  they  would  settle  the  matter  when 
Jimmie  would  be  in  a  tight  place  again,  for  I  did  not  believe  his 
father  had  stated  what  he  said  he  did.  Mr.  Ellington's  name  was 
mentioned  but  the  one  time  and  then  in  that  way.  Here,  Mr. 
Wilkinson,  who  seems  to  have  got  his  evidence  from  some  book, 
and  memorized  it  for  the  occasion  and  repeated  it  by  rote  with  a 
gladiatorial  air  •  and  swagger,  was,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  grossly 
mistaken.  Indeed,  his  whole  testimony  was  a  tissue  of  mistakes, 
from  which  the  prosecution  wove  a  web  of  very  plausible  but 
flimsy  circumstances  against  me.  Whether  he  has  done  this  thing 
for  the  '  thirty  pieces,'  or  from  hate,  malice  or  envy,  or,  merely 
from  a  blood-thirsty  appetite,  I  can  not  say.  According  to  his  own 
evidence,  however,  he  went  there,  not  to  prevent  a  difficulty  but 
to  see  one,  and  to  eat  up  George  Monroe  alive ;  and  yet,  this  man , 


50  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS    OF 

this  California  gambler  and  faro-dealer ;  this  butcher,  who  by  his 
own  account  has  murdered  a  dozen  men  while  there  for  merely 
disputing  his  word  and  asserting  their  rights  when  he  was  swindling 
them  at  the  faro-table ;  this  professed  gambler  who  lives  by  enticing 
unwary  young  men  to  the  card-table  to  swindle  them  out  of  their 
money — this  man,  this  perjurer,  who  has  sworn  my  life  away,  has 
been  styled  by  the  prosecution,  '  a  respectable  young  man  /' 

"  But  enough  of  him !  God  and  his  conscience  for  it !  From  the 
drugstore,  I  started  to  go  to  dinner,  as  we  ate  very  early  at  my 
boarding-house ;  and  Mr.  Moore  not  being  at  home,  I  was  hastening 
to  see  that  Mrs.  Moore  had  sufficient  wood  cut,  as  I  had  sent  a  boy 
to  cut  some.  I  will  here  state  that  I  had  a  horse  and  buggy  in 
readiness  to  go  with  my  wife  to  Cunningham's  that  evening,  and 
would  have  gone  in  the  morning  but  for  the  absence  of  Mr.  Moore, 
my  wife  not  feeling  inclined  to  leave  Mrs.  Moore  alone.  When  I 
started  to  dinner,  as  was  my  usual  custom,  I  took  a  straight  and 
direct  line  from  the  drugstore  to  the  house,  not  following  the  side 
walks.  I  did  not  see  Mr.  Ellington  until  within  a  few  feet  of  him, 
and  then  I  perceived  he  was  very  angry.  God  knows  what  his  son 
Jim  had  gone  home  that  night  and  told  him ;  none  may  ever  know 
until  the  secrets  of  all  hearts  are  known,  but  this  much  I  do  know, 
that  he  had  told  him  something  of  his  affair  of  the  night  before  with 
Byrd  Monroe — in  which  all  said  he  was  wrong,  but  of  that  I  know 
nothing — which  made  him  very  angry  with  both  Byrd  Monroe  and 
myself ;  and  when  I  met  him  he  had  been  once  to  Byrd  Monroe's 
to  see  him,  and  was  on  his  way  there  again.  Seeing  him,  and 
feeling  certain  from  his  manner  that  Jim  had  told  him  of  the  affair, 
I  laughingly  remarked  to  him : 

"  I  suppose  Jim  told  you  of  his  muss  last  night.  They  sent  for 
me  and  hunted  me  up,  but  I  did  not  see  that  I  had  any  thing  to 
do  with  it — I  only  laughed  at  them. 

"  He  raised  his  cane  and  said : — '  Yes,  you  have  something  to  do 
with  it,  you  puppy !  Byrd  Monroe  has  been  lying  some  time  and 
you  have  denied  things  you  said  to  him.' 

"  I  stepped  back  several  steps,  and  told  him  not  to  strike  me 
with  his  cane,  that  Byrd  Monroe  would  not  say  bo.  He  replied 
that  he  would.  I  again  asserted  that  he  would  not.  He  then 
asked  me  to  go  with  him  to  the  store.  I  hesitated,  and  he  again 


ADOLPHUS    F.    MONROE.  53 

said,  'Come  on!  'come  along!'  Thus  urged  the  second  time,  I 
went.  Byrd  Monroe  was  not  there.  I  remarked  to  Ellington  that 
I  did  not  see  why  he  should  blame  me  for  every  lie  that  he  heard , 
that  if,  as  he  said,  Byrd  and  John  Monroe  lied,  it  was  no  business 
of  mine — but  he  and  they  for  it ;  that  I  knew  nothing  about  this 
scrape,  cared  nothing  about  it,  nor  did  I  want  to  know  any  thing 
about  it,  and  I  did  not  see  why  in  the  h — 11 1  was  dragged  into  it. 
He  then  said,  '  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  you  have  told  forty  lies 
about  it.'  I  commenced  to  make  a  kind  reply,  but  passion  got  the 
better  of  my  tongue  and  reason,  and  I  said,  '  Oh !  well,  now,  if 
I  have  told  forty  lies,  you  have  told  sixty.'  At  this  time  he  was 
standing  with  his  back  to  the  east  counter,  leaning  with  his  elbow 
on  the  show-case,  with  his  cane  in  his  hand  grasped  about  the 
middle.  I  was  standing  by  the  west  counter,  which  is  not  so  long 
by  six  or  eight  feet  and  below  the  pile  of  goods  on  the  end,  at  least 
ten  or  twelve  feet  from  him.  Upon  my  reply,  he  said,  '  Ha !  you 
trifling  puppy,  you  talk  to  me  in  that  way!'  Throwing  up  both 
arms,  he  ran  at  me ;  I  stepped  back  several  steps  as  he  came ; 
catching  me  with  his  right  hand  by  the  collar,  and  by  the  throat 
with  his  left,  his  cane  striking  me  upon  the  left  hand,  as  I  threw 
it  up  to  ward  off  his  attack,  skinning  it  considerably  and  striking 
me  smartly  upon  the  forehead.  He  then  choked  me  back  upon 
the  counter  when  I  fired  the  first  shot  at  him,  or  rather  toward 
where  I  supposed  he  was,  for  I  was  choked  so  far  back  with  my 
head  over  the  counter  that  I  could  not  see  him  at  the  time.  Mr. 
Wilkinson  states  that  he  saw  my  pistol  in  my  right  hand  partly 
drawn.  Again  '  the  honorable  and  respectable  young  man'  was 
mistaken.  My  hand  did  not  touch  it,  nor  was  it  drawn  till  I  was 
upon  the  counter.  Pie  then  threw  me  upon  the  floor,  with  my  face 
downward,  springing  upon  me,  choking  and  gouging  me  rapidly. 
I  could  then  have  drawn  my  second  pistol  and  shot  him  again,  but 
a  thought  of  my  wife  and  child  flashed  over  me,  and  I  called  out 
several  times  for  help,  when  I  heard  Eastin  say  in  answer  to  my 
call,  'Stamp  him  to  death!  stamp  him  to  death!  d-n  him!'  I 
did  not  know  until  afterward,  that  any  one  was  offering  to  take 
him  off  at  all.  In  a  second  after,  I  called  again  twice,  for  help, 
when  I  heard  Ellington  say  to  some  one,  '  No  !  no !  don't  touch 
me  !  let  me  kill  him  !'  I  was  then  choked  almost  to  death  ;  my 


LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF 


eyes  were  nearly  gouged  out,  and  with  this  threat  ringing  in  my 
ears,  in  despair,  with  a  desperate  effort,  I  arose  to  my  knee 
and  fired  the  second  and  last  shot,  when  we  were  instantly 
separated. 

"  The  second  pistol  was  never  drawn  until  the  instant  '  t  was 
fired.  And,  here,  again,  Mr.  "Wilkinson  was  mistaken.  Elling- 
ton never  had  hold  either  of  my  hands  or  wrists,  but  on  the  con- 
trary, I  held  his  hands  from  my  eyes  and  throat,  while  I  called 
upon  the  crowd  '  to  take  him  off,'  and  God  knows  had  that  assist- 
ance been  given  when  called  for,  or  had  not  Ellington  said  he 
would  kill  me,  that  second  shot  would  never  have  been  fired.  I 
could  have  shot  him  before,  but  I  did  not  wish  to  do  so.  Even 
then  the  thought  of  my  wife  and  child  prevented  me,  and  I  wished 
the  difficulty  to  end  without  any  more  harm  being  done.  But, 
alas  !  fate  willed  it  otherwise,  and  he  is  gone  and  I  am  here  ! 
Why,  I  would  ask  of  those  who  best  may  answer  ;  why,  why  was 
Ellington's  last  dying  statement  riot  brought  forward  here?  I 
asked  it  ;  my  friends  asked  it  ;  my  counsel  asked  it  ;  why  was  it 
not  here  ?  The  counsel  for  the  prosecution  refused  to  permit  it. 
Let  the  fact  speak  for  itself!  It  is  awfully  significant. 

"  From  the  first  of  this  affair,  I  have  been  hunted  down  with 
blood-hound  ferocity,  by  false  witnesses,  envy,  malice  and  hate. 
May  God  forgive  all  those  who  have  sought  my  fall  as  freely  as  I 
do  !  Rather,  far  rather,  aye  ten  thousand  times  rather  had  I  stand 
here  to-day,  their  victim,  than  to  live  on,  even  for  ages,  with  the 
awful  weight  of  agony,  regret  and  remorse  which  time  must  and 
will  surely  bring  home  to  their  hearts  and  consciences. 

"  But  a  few  more  words  and  I  have  done.  Soon  this  heart  shall 
cease  to  beat  and  the  tones  of  this  voice  be  hushed,  and  the  places 
which  have  known  me  'know  me  no  more  forever!'  My  place 
by  the  side  of  my  friends,  of  my  mother  and  sister,  my  wife  and 
child,  shall  be  left  vacant,  never  more  to  be  filled  again  on  earth. 
Be  it  so  !  This  solemn  farce  is  over,  this  awful  mockery  is  ended, 
and  I  fall  a  victim  to  popular  fury  and  rnobocracy  !  The  victim 
stands  before  you  ready  to  receive  his  sentence  ;  prepared  for  the 
sacrifice  —  /  am  ready  !  Cut  off  in  the  morning  of  life,  so  early, 
so  unfortunately,  so  unjustly,  with  all  so  fair  and  bright  before  me, 
with  the  future  opening  up  so  many  sweet  views  and  visions  of  joy 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONROE.  55 

and  happiness,  peace,  prosperity,  fame  and  honor — a  happy  hus- 
band and  a  father — I  fall  without  a  murmur !  The  lamb  is  dumb 
before  the  altar.  I  ask  not  your  sympathy  ;  I  need  it  not.  'T  is 
the  sympathy  of  the  tiger  for  his  prey,  of  the  wolf  for  the  lamb 
which  he  devours — and  't  is  literally  the  sympathy  of  the  mob  for 
their  victim. 

"  Oh  !  if  there  is  any  consolation  in  death  after  a  calm  heart, 
clear  conscience,  faith  and  hope,  'tis  the  thought  of  leaving  this 
foul  nest  of  liars  and  slanderers  !  'T  is  hard,  it  is  true,  to  die  so 
young,  so  loving  and  beloved  !  'T  is  true,  I  had  rather  live,  for 
there  are  those  whom  't  is  worse,  far  worse,  and  more  bitter  than 
death  itself  to  leave ;  and  I  am  no  stoic  !  Though  calm,  my 
heart  is  sad,  aye  very  sad  ;  sad  for  him  who  has  gone  before  ;  sad 
for  my  friends,  and  sad  for  my  own  sad  fate  and  early  doom,  so 
undeserved ;  and  sad — oh !  how  sad ! — for  an  old  and  infirm 
mother,  who  leans  upon  me  for  support ;  and  sadder,  far  sadder 
still,  for  my  poor,  broken-hearted,  unhappy  widowed  wife  and  help- 
less orphan  child — for  her,  my  wife,  with  all  her  fond  affections 
crushed  and  bright  hopes  blasted — for  her !  in  her  sad  and  unfor- 
tunate position — and  how  sad  and  unfortunate  her  position  is  the 
world  may  never  know ;  for,  in  the  midst  of  her  kindred,  she  is  in 
the  midst  of  her  foes !  For  her,  in  her  desolation  and  woe,  my 
heart  bleeds,  my  spirit  shrinks,  and  my  head  is  bowed  in  grief  to 
the  dust. 

"  But  though  my  heart  is  sad,  I  stand  here  before  you  to-day 
with  no  pale  face  of  fear,  no  shrinking  form  of  terror.  This  frail 
body  you  may  hew  from  the  earth  and  trample  upon  my  dust 
when  I  am  gone  ;  but  my  heart  you  can  not  change — my  soul  you 
can  not  reach  ;  my  spirit  you  can  not  conquer  !  Far  better,  and 
higher,  and  holier  men  than  I  have  fallen,  and  fallen  far  more 
ignominiously  and  unjustly.  Our  Saviour  died  upon  the  cross, 
and  kings  and  princes  have  perished  on  the  scaffold.  I  fall,  but  I 
will  fall  proudly  !  Strong  in  the  conciousuess  of  my  own  inno. 
cence,  knowing  the  purity  of  my  own  motives  and  intentions,  I 
go  with  a  calm  heart  and  a  firm  and  even  soul  to  meet  my 
God! 

"  Across  the  dark  waters  of  that  mysterious  stream  which  flows 
between  time  and  eternity,  I  will  '  paddle  ray  own  lone  canoe,'  to 


56  I>IFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF 

the  unseen  shores  of  that  Great  Beyond — that  dread  unknown, 
that  awful  world  of  the  solemn  hereafter,  fully  satisfied  and  believ- 
ing that  Ms  shade,  who  has  gone  before,  freed  from  the  frailties  of 
human  nature  and  the  vail  which  darkens  mortal  eyes,  will  there 
read  my  heart  aright  and  be  among  the  first  to  meet  and  extend  to 
me  the  hand  of  welcome  in  the  spiritlaud ! 

"  You  have  rendered  your  verdict  which  posterity  and  heaven 
shall  sit  upon  and  reverse.  But  from  an  earthly  court  and  an 
earthly  tribunal,  I  appeal  to  that  court  and  that  tribunal  before 
which  we  all  must  one  day  appear ;  and  I  summon  you  now  to 
meet  me  there,  and  answer  each  and  all  of  you  for  this  foul  deed 
of  murder  and  wrong  !  Before  Him  who  sees  the  sparrow  fall, 
who  numbers  our  hairs  upon  our  heads ;  before  the  Great  Searcher 
of  human  hearts  and  souls,  we'll  meet  again !  To  that  tribunal 
I  now  appeal — to  that  tribunal,  I  am  now  going.  That  court  must 
soon  pass  upon  my  heart  and  deeds.  But  there,  with  God  for  my 
judge,  Christ  for  my  advocate,  and  angels  for  my  jurors,  I  have 
nought  to  fear!" 

Amazement  must  take  possession  of  the  mind  of  every  reader, 
when  one  by  one  the  circumstances  of  this  extraordinary  affair  are 
developed.  From  the  very  beginning  there  seems  to  have  been  a 
determination  on  the  part  of  those  who  in  the  end  participated  in 
the  horrid  tragedy  about  to  be  described,  that  neither  the  acquittal 
of  a  jury  nor  the  executive  clemency  should  save  the  prisoner  from 
the  bloody  doom  to  which  they  intend  to  consign  him.  He  was 
not  allowed  to  be  present  at  the  court  of  inquiry  by  which  he  was 
formally  committed  to  jail  to  await  his  trial.  When  restive  at  the 
confinement  to  which  he  was  subject,  and  asserting  that  no  jury 
could  convict  him  of  a  capital  offense,  he  asked  a  court  to  be  called 
that  he  might  have  a  fair  and  impartial  hearing,  it  was  announced 
to  him  in  the  most  unmistakable  manner  that  the  mob  had  deter- 
mined that  he  should  not  have  a  change  of  venue  and  that  he 
should  not  be  acquitted ;  that  if  he  succeeded  in  procuring  either 
he  should  be  instantaneously  murdered.  When  the  court  met  it 
was  filled  with  an  excited  and  infuriated  populace.  Ropes,  more 
than  one,  had  been  prepared  with  which  to  hang  him,  provided 
his  application  for  a  change  of  venue  should  prove  successful. 


ADOLFHUS   F.    MONROE. 


57 


Overawed  by  the  display  and  threats  of  this  determination,  what 
could  he,  single  and  a  prisoner,  do  against  the  crowd  that  stood 
around  him?  He  was  compelled  to  submit  and  to  suffer  himself 
to  go  through  with  the  form  of  a  trial  which  he  new  must  result 
in  his  conviction,  rather  than  on  the  spot  to  be  hanged  by  the 
mob.  "We  have  seen  how  this  trial  began,  proceeded,  and  how  it 
has  now  concluded  in  a  sentence  of  death  against  him.  Few  situ- 
ations are  entirely  without  hope.  There  opened  up  to  him  but 
two  prospects  of  escape  from  his  unhappy  situation.  These  were, 
on  the  one  hand,  that  the  supreme  court  of  the  State  might  reverse 
the  sentence  for  irregularity  in  the  proceedings  and  order  a  new 
trial  of  his  case  ;  or,  if  that  should  fail,  that  the  Governor  of  the 
State,  upon  a  proper  representation  of  the  facts,  could  scarcely 
refuse  to  pardon  him,  or,  at  least,  delay  the  execution  of  the  sen- 
tence affording  him  thereby  an  opportunity  more  effectually  to 
make  some  shift  to  relieve  himself  entirely. 

The  first  hope  soon  failed  him,  for  on  an  application  to  the  su- 
preme court  to  reverse  the  sentence  of  the  inferior  one  by  which 
he  had  been  tried,  it  was  refused. 

The  last  hope  was  now  in  an  application  to  the  Governor.  It 
was  made  by  the  two  persons  who  of  all  the  inhabitants  of  earth 
were  fittest  to  present  it — the  prisoner's  mother  and  his  wife. 
The  one,  upon  whose  bosom  he  had  slept  in  his  innocent  child- 
hood ;  and  the  other,  who  had  folded  him  to  her  heart  in  the  first 
warm  gush  of  womanhood,  with  the  fond  devotion  of  a  young 
and  loving  wife.  The  one  pleaded  for  the  son  whom  she  had 
hoped  would  be  her  staff  in  her  declining  years — for  whom  she  had 
offered  a  thousand  petitions,  and  whom,  in  the  midst  of  his  dark- 
ness, she  loved  more  fondly  than  ever ;  and  the  other  interceded 
for  the  father  of  her  child  and  the  husband  of  her  woman's  heart. 
Unmindful  of  the  fact  that  all  her  kindred  were  arrayed  against, 
her,  and  that  he  for  whose  pardon  she  implored  had  been  convicted 
of  the  murder  of  her  own  father,  she  left  nothing  undone  in  behalf 
of  her  husband  and  applied  herself  to  his  cause  with  unswerving 
devotion.  The  darkest  picture  has  some  ray  of  light,  and  often, 
in  the  darkest  night,  some  bright  star  appears  to  tinge  with  silver 
the  edges  of  the  cloud  through  which  it  breaks.  How  beautiful ! 
how  worthy  of  all  admiration  appears  the  devotion  of  this  young 


58  LIFE   AND    WRITINGS    OF 

and  devoted  woman  !  Her  love  for  her  husband  burns  as  brightly 
as  burns  the  lamp,  which  in  some  countries  is  lighted  by  love  and 
watched  by  memory  above  the  tombs  of  departed  friends ! 

A  respite  was  granted  by  the  Governor  who  extended  the  time 
of  the  execution  from  the  15th  of  February  until  the  15th  of  May. 

No  sooner  had  intelligence  of  this  action  on  the  part  of  the  Gov- 
ernor reached  Charleston,  than  the  community  was  thrown  into 
the  wildest  excitement.  Threats  were  loud  and  furious.  To  an 
observing  man  it  was  very  apparent  that  the  clemency  of  the 
highest  officer  of  the  State  found  no  response  in  the  hearts  of  the 
excited  populace,  and  that  the  days  of  the  prisoner  were  not  only 
numbered  but  that  the  number  was  fewer  than  those  allowed  by 
the  respite. 

The  end  of  this  fearful  affair  was  discribed,  bv  the  messenger 

'         «/  O 

who  was  dispatched  to  Charleston  with  the  respite,  in  a  letter  to 
the  Missouri  Republican.  Coming  as  it  does  from  an  individual 
wholly  impartial,  it  is  supposed  to  be  entirely  worthy  of  credit  and 
is  given  in  the  writer's  own  language.  The  time  referred  to  in  the 
first  line  being  the  14th  of  February,  1856. 

"  About  six  o'clock  crowds  began  coming  in ;  about  four  hun- 
dred came  in  on  the  evening  train,  and  about  one  thousand  persons 
in  all  were  present.  It  was  rumored  that  the  prisoner  would  be 
taken  out  that  night  and  hung,  but  such  was  not  the  case. 

"At  an  early  hour  next  morning,  Friday  the  15th,  the  day 
upon  which  Monroe  was  sentenced  to  be  hung,  crowds  of  people 
were  seen  coming  into  Charleston  in  wagons,  sleds,  and  by  every 
means  of  conveyance.  In  these  crowds  were  women  and  children, 
who  were  coming  '  to  see  the  fun,'  as  they  said. 

"  At  about  11  o'clock,  it  was  estimated  that  four  or  five  thou- 
sand persons  were  present  and  assembled  in  and  around  the 
square.  At  about  10  o'clock,  I  saw  the  crowd  moving  toward  the 
court-house,  in  the  center  of  the  square,  where  I  learned  that 
speeches  were  to  be  made,  and  being  desirous  of  hearing  what 
was  said,  I  passed  up  and  stood  close  to  the  stand  to  be  occupied 
by  the  speaker. 

"A  man  named  Cunningham,  who  it  is  understood  is  the  ring- 
leader of  the  mob,  and  who  could  control  it  as  he  desired,  first 
mounted  the  stand  and  spoke  as  follows: 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONEOE.  59 

"  'Fellow-citizens  : — I  appear  here  as  a  friend  of  Ellington,  and 
to  inform  you  that  a  respite  has  been  granted  by  the  Governor, 
postponing  the  execution  till  the  15th  of  May.  I  have  always  had 
respect  for  the  law.  I  have  consulted  with  some  of  old  Nathan's 
friends,  and  many  of  the  citizens  of  Cole,  upon  the  subject  of 
obeying  the  respite,  and  have  come  to  the  conclusion,  upon  reflec- 
tion, to  postpone  the  execution,  until  the  time  fixed  upon  by  his 
Excellency,  upon  the  condition  that  the  sheriff,  who  now  stands 
upon  my  left,  will  chain  the  prisoner  down,  and  pledge  himself 
to  be  responsible  for  his  safe  keeping  until  the  day  fixed  on  by  the 
Governor  for  his  execution,  and  that  he  shall  be  executed  on  that 
day,  notwithstanding  his  Excellency  the  Governor.  (Loud  and 
long  cheering.)  I  want  the  Governor  to  understand  that  we,  the 
people  of  Coles  county,  are  competent  to  attend  to  our  own 
affairs,  without  his  interference,  and  that  we  are  determined  he 
shall  not  do  as  he  previously  did  in  a  case  above  here.  (Enthu- 
siastic cheering.)  I  now  move  that  we  prepare  resolutions  and 
get  up  a  petition,  the  first  giving  our  consent  to  the  time  fixed 
upon  by  the  Governor  for  his  execution,  and  the  second  for  the 
purpose  of  contradicting  the  many  misrepresentations  and  false- 
hoods which  have  been  sent  to  the  Governor,  upon  which  said 
misrepresentations  and  falsehoods  he  granted  the  respite — and  to 
request  him  to  SHORTEN  the  time  for  hanging. 

"  '  Gentlemen,  these  are  my  views,  and  what  I  am  willing  to 
submit  to  notwithstanding  my  intimate  connection  with  the  de- 
ceased, upon  the  ground  that  the  sheriff  will  pledge  himself  as  a 
man,  and  as  sheriff  of  Coles  county,  to  iron  the  prisoner,  and  that 
he  shall  be  executed  on  that  day.  (The  sheriff,  standing  near  him, 
responded  that  he  would.) 

"  'Gentlemen,  in  saying  what  I  have,  I  speak  the  sentiments 
of  some  of  old  Nathan's  friends  with  whom  I  have  conversed  to- 
day, but  only  a  part  of  them? 

"  After  the  speech  of  Cunningham,  a  man  named  McNary  was 
called  upon  who  said,  speaking  of  the  prisoner,  'Take  him  out, 
G — d  d-n  him  ;  take  him  out  and  hang  him  !' 

After  the  speeches  of  the  above  named  men  and  others,  the 
court-house  bell  commenced  ringing,  which  seemed  to  be  a  signal 
for  an  attack  on  the  jail.  The  mob,  inflamed  and  excited  by  the 


60  LIFE   AND   WETTINGS   OF 

speeches  they  had  heard,  rushed  en  masse  to  the  jail-yard,  where, 
yelling  like  demons  let  loose  from  the  infernal  region,  they  began  to 
make  an  attack  on  the  north  side  of  the  jail.  Some  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes  after  they  had  commenced  the  attack,  the  sheriff  made  his 
appearance  and  addressed  the  mob  for  about  two  minutes,  com- 
manding them  to  desist,  but  made  no  appeal  to  the  spectators 
to  assist  him  in  enforcing  the  law.  The  sheriff  then  disappeared, 
and  made  no  further  effort  either  to  resist  the  mob  or  to  protect  the 

v> 

prisoner. 

"  The  mob  were  about  two  hours  in  making  a  breach  in  the  wall 
of  the  jail.  I  think  not  more  than  ten  or  twelve  men  did  the 
actual  work,  but  they  were  encouraged  by  a  large  portion  of  the 
crowd,  who  used  every  means  to  keep  up  the  excitement.  During 
all  this  time  were  heard  the  sounds  of  fife  and  drum  amid  the  de- 
moniac yells  of  the  multitude. 

"  Several  men  who  were  placed  in  jail  as  a  guard  stood  in  the 
open  windows  with  guns  in  hand,  and  called  upon  the  crowd  to 
assist  in  the  work  and  to  take  the  prisoner  out  and  hang  him. 
Some  of  these  men  were  placed  there  by  the  sheriff.  The  others 
were  placed  there  by  other  parties  for  the  purpose  of  watching  the 
movements  of  the  prisoner  and  preventing  any  escape.  One  man 
displayed  out  of  the  window  a  portrait  of  Monroe's  wife — the 
daughter  of  Ellington — and  called  upon  the  crowd  in  a  vehement 
manner  to  behold  the  daughter  of  the  father  the  prisoner  had 
murdered.  It  is  proper  here  to  state  that  Monroe's  wife  has  always 
sustained  him  in  this  dreadful  affair. 

"  At  times  during  the  attack  upon  the  jail,  the  excitement  of  the 
mob  would  die  away,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  had  the  sheriff,  or 
any  other  prominent  citizen,  made  the  effort,  he  might  have  suc- 
ceeded in  quelling  the  excitement  and  restoring  order. 

"  I  wish  here  to  give  the  names  of  a  few  of  those  most  promi- 
nent in  doing  the  work.  Wm.  Hart,  grocery  keeper,  of  Charles- 
ton, principal  actor  in  breaking  the  jail.  This  man  worked  at 
times  with  an  ax,  sledge-hammer,  crowbar,  etc.,  and  when  he 
would  be  exhausted  he  would  call  upon  the  crowd  to  come  up  and 
assist  him  in  taking  vengeance.  Solomon  Corsel,  said  to  be  a 
resident  of  Clark  county,  and  Thomas  and  John  Epperson  were 
said  also  to  be  the  names  of  some  of  the  workers.  The  name  of 


ADOLPHUS    F.    MONROE.  61 

the  man  who  displayed  the  portrait  is  Dennis  Bell.  The  names 
of  many  others  of  the  active  participants  it  is  said  are  known. 

"  When  the  breach  was  made  large  enough,  the  prisoner  was 
dragged  through,  badly  bruised  and  insensible  amid  the  deafening 
shouts  of*  the  mob,  who  immediately  moved  with  him  toward  the 
square,  the  fife  and  the  drum  in  the  mean  time  sounding.  The 
crowd  pressed  around  and  it  would  have  been  impossible  to 
know  the  position  of  the  prisoner,  had  it  not  been  designated  by 
one  who  carried  a  long  staff. 

"The  mob  then  proceeded  to  the  public  square,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  there  hanging  the  prisoner,  and  thus  completing  the  hellish 
transaction ;  but  about  this  time  I  noticed  a  prominent  citizen 
edge  his  way  through  the  crowd  with  the  intention,  as  I  supposed, 
of  addressing  the  mob,  but  in  this  I  was  disappointed.  However 
the  mass  commenced  moving  toward  the  square,  and  the  cry  im- 
mediately arose,  'To  the  woods  !  to  the  woods !' 

"Immediately  the  mass  moved  with  the  prisoner  to  the  woods. 
After  proceeding  about  half  a  mile  southwest  of  the  square  an- 
other halt  was  made,  and  those  most  active  pressed  the  crowd  back 
and  succeeded  in  making  a  ring  in  which  some  six  or  seven  held 
the  prisoner.  In  the  middle  of  the  ring  was  a  tree  against  which 
a  ladder  was  placed,  on  which  a  man  ascended  with  an  ax,  with 
which  he  trimmed  off  the  smaller  branches.  The  rope  \vas  now 
made  fast  to  the  tree,  and  all  things  appeared  ready  for  the  black- 
est outrage  which  has  at  any  time  been  perpetrated  by  any  people, 
much  less  those  who  have  claims  to  civilization. 

"  During  all  the  time  the  prisoner  appeared  insensible  of  what 
was  going  on,  being  unable  to  sustain  himself  alone.  He  ap- 
peared like  a  man  who  had  taken  poisonous  drugs  which  had 
taken  effect  upon  him.  He  did  not  seem  to  heed  the  crowd,  but 
would  occasionally  laugh  in  a  wild  and  insane  manner. 

"  All  being  now  prepared  for  the  execution  of  their  purpose, 
the  mob  seem  for  the  first  time  to  reflect  upon  what  they  were 
about  to  do.  All  was  silent,  yet  no  one  dared  to  assert  the  right 
of  the  prisoner  and  the  supremacy  of  the  law:  could  such  an 
one  have  been  found  the  dreadful  end  might  have  been  avoided. 

"  Again  the  cry  was  raised,  '  Take  him  back  to  jail !'  '  Will  you 
hang  a  dead  man  ?'  but  some  demon's  voice  was  heard  saying. 


62  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS    OF 

'  You  G — d  d-n  cowards  !  are  you  afraid  to  hang  him  after  bring- 
ing him  here  ?'  The  prisoner  was  now  placed  in  a  wagon  under 
the  rope,  and  again  the  mob  hesitated.  It  seemed  that  no  one 
could  be  found  blood-thirsty  enough  to  adjust  the  rope  to  his  neck. 
Finally,  a  tool  in  the  hands  of  others  by  the  name  of  Thomas 
Fleming  placed  the  rope  around  the  prisoner's  neck  while  others 
held  him  up.  The  wagon  was  pulled  away  and  the  awful  deed 
accomplished,  the  victim  as  he  hung  not  making  the  least  struggle. 

"Sickened  and  disgusted  with  the  scene,  I  retired,  and  by  the 
next  train  left  the  town.  I  heard,  on  my  return  from  Terre  Haute, 
that  the  body  was  taken  down  by  the  mob  who  had  not  yet  satiated 
their  brutal  vengeance  and  carried  in  a  wagon  twice  round  the 
public  square  of  the  town  as  in  triumph  of  their  disgraceful  deed. 
Upon  the  appeal  of  the  sister  of  Monroe  his  body  was  surrendered 
to  his  friends  for  burial. 

"  Thus  ended  one  of  the  most  hellish  outrages  that  ever  dis- 
graced Illinois.  May  its  history  never  be  marked  by  another. 

"  In  addition  to  the  above,  we  will  add,  that  it  can  be  proved 
by  two  or  more  respectable  citizens  of  Edgar  county,  as  we  are 
informed,  that  previous  to  the  trial  of  Monroe  a  man  stated  that 
he  wanted  to  get  upon  the  jury  for  the  purpose  of  hanging  the 
scoundrel  (meaning  Monroe) ;  and  it  can  also  be  proven  that  the 
same  man  was  on  the  jury !  It  can  also  be  proven  that  two,  or 
one,  in  particular,  of  the  witnesses  for  the  prosecution  are  men  of 
doubtful  character,  being  professional  blacklegs. 

"  It  is  not  our  present  purpose  to  inquire  whether  Monroe  had 
the  full  benefit  of  the  law — whether  he  had  a  fair  trial — but  it  is 
our  purpose  to  inquire  where  were  the  men — the  prominent  and 
influential  men  of  Coles  county,  that  they  should  let  such  a  damn- 
able outrage  blacken  not  only  the  town  of  Charleston,  not  only 
Coles  county,  but  cast  a  stain  upon  our  whole  State? 

"  "Where  was  the  sheriff  of  Coles  county,  that  he  should  not  do 
his  duty  and  uphold  the  sanctity  of  the  law !  that  he  should  let  a 
mob  murder  a  man  in  the  broad  light  of  day  in  this  free  and  com- 
mon country,  without  making  scarcely  the  slightest  resistance, 
without  calling  upon  the  law-abiding  people  to  assist  him,  when 
his  call  would  have  been  responded  to  by  numbers  ? 

"  We  confess  that  in  all  the  annals  of  barbaritv  and  crime  we 


ADOLPHUS    F.    MONROE.  63 

have  never  known  of,  never  read  of  such  inhuman  brutality  as  has 
recently  been  perpetrated  in  the  hitherto  fair  county  of  Coles." 

No  comment  upon  this  unvarnished  narrative  is  necessary.  The 
wild  excitement  of  the  mob  added  to  and  supported  by  the  sound 
of  martial  music ;  the  inflammatory  speeches  of  the  mob  orators, 
who,  while  pretending  to  allay,  really  sought  to  increase  the  mad- 
ness and  ferocity  of  the  crowd  ;  the  display  of  Mrs.  Monroe's  por- 
trait from  the  prison  window ;  the  wild  hurrah  with  which  the  brutal 
industry  of  the  assailants  of  the  jail  was  kept  alive  and  with  which 
their  successful  attempt  was  hailed ;  the  timidity,  to  say  the  least  of 
it,  of  the  sheriff;  the  shrinking  even  of  that  crowd  of  blood-thirsty 
men  at  the  thought  of  the  murder  they  were  about  to  commit ; 
their  wavering  and  hesitation ;  the  prisoner's  helplessness ;  his 
frantic  appearance,  and  loud  insane  laugh ; — the  final  and  fearful 
exclamation  of  that  human  fiend  who  called  for  his  execution  ; 
the  murdered  man  exhausted,  fainting,  and  senseless  before  tho 
knot  was  tied,  and  then  dying  without  a  struggle ;  and  then  the 
horrible  and  savage  delight  with  which  his  lacerated  body  was 
dragged  about  the  public  square — what  need  is  there  to  dwell 
upon  such  sights  as  these  ?  Already  is  the  mind  of  the  reader 
amazed  that  such  a  thing  could  be  perpetrated  in  the  midst  of 
civilized  life,  in  this  age  of  the  world,  and  at  the  recital  his  heart 
has  sickened  and  his  blood  run  fiercely  through  its  channels. 

He  is  now  beyond  the  reach  of  human  power.  His  soul  has 
returned  to  Him  who  gave  it  with  its  sins,  we  hope,  in  a  great 
measure  expiated  by  the  cruel  ordeal  by  which  it  was  released. 
As  in  life  he  had  retained  through  all  variations  of  his  checkered 
fortunes  the  love  of  his  wife  and  mother  and  of  his  sister  and  her 
husband,  so  they  were  not  unmindful  of  him  in  his  death.  With 
broken  hearts  they  took  charge  of  his  remains  after  the  mob  had 
expended  its  fury  upon  them  and  bore  them  back  to  Kentucky. 
There,  amid  the  places  which  were  so  dear  to  him  in  youth,  his 
ashes  await  the  general  resurrection.  Near  the  shores  of  the  beau- 
tiful stream  which  ever  murmured  in  his  ear  when  far  away  from 
it,  in  a  resting-place  decorated  in  accordance  with  his  own  request, 
he  sleeps  the  sleep  that  knows  no  waking ! 


64:  LIFE   AND    WHITINGS    OF 


MY  PKESENT  POSITION  AND  ITS  CAUSES. 

ON  the  12th  of  December,  1853,  I  was  married  to  Miss  Nannie 
Ellington,  much  against  the  will  of  her  mother,  who  was  so  bit- 
terly opposed  to  our  union  that  she  threatened  to  turn  her  daugh- 
ter out  of  doors,  if  I  ever  came  there  to  see  her ;  so,  of  course,  I 
never  visited  the  house.  Her  only  cause  of  opposition  and  hatred 
of  rne  was  her  inveterate  dislike  of  all  the  Monroe  family,  and 
no  fault  of  mine  ;  and,  strange  as  it  may  appear,  I  did  not  even 
know  her,  and  never  saw  her  in  my  life,  until  I  was  introduced  to 
her  by  Nannie,  to  ask  her  consent  to  our  marriage ;  which  she 
ungraciously  gave,  for  she  could  not  help  herself.  Nannie  was 
determined,  and  her  father  willing,  but  she  never  forgave  me,  and 
seemed  determined,  from  the  first,  to  produce  a  separation  between 
my  wife  and  myself,  for  which  end  she  labored  unceasingly — abus- 
ing me  continually,  and  begging  Nannie  to  leave  me,  which, 
though  she  failed  to  effect  it,  has  at  length  ended  in  the  present 
unfortunate  affair.  May  God  forgive  her ! 

Ellington  himself  was  a  good  man,  and  meant  to  do  right;  and, 
but  for  her  baneful  influence,  was  my  friend,  and  would  have 
treated  me  well ;  but,  misled  by  her  and  others,  he  became  preju- 
diced against  me — abused  me  and  my  mother  very  often  in  dis- 
gusting terms,  until,  finally,  on  the  19th  day  of  October  last  (1855), 
lie  gave  me  the  lie,  and  struck  me ;  choking  me  back  upon  the 
counter ;  when  I  fired  upon  him — striking  him  upon  the  top  of 
the  head,  but  wounding  him  very  slightly.  He  then  threw  me 
upon  the  floor  upon  my  face,  all  the  while  beating,  gouging,  and 
choking  me.  He  was  a  very  large  and  stout  man,  able  to  handle 
three  or  four  men  of  my  physical  strength.  I  called  upon  the 
crowd,  several  times,  "  to  take  him  off,"  which  they  did  not  do, 
and  which  he  refused  to  let  them  do.  I  then,  as  my  last  resource, 
to  save  my  eyes,  and  to  prevent  being  choked  to  death,  shot  him 
again,  which  resulted  in  his  death  on  October  27th,  eight  days 
afterward.  Had  not  John  Eastin  called  out  to  Ellington  to 
"stamp  him  to  death,  d-n  him,"  after  I  had  told  the  crowd  to 
take  him  off,  and  had  not  Ellington  refused  to  be  taken  off,  I 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONROE.  65 

should  not  have  shot  the  second  time.  I  was  arrested,  and  confined 
here  in  prison.  My  wife  was  then  forced  to  go  to  Ellington's  for 
a  home,  as  I  could  no  longer  protect  her,  and  she  is  now  there, 
almost  as  unhappily  situated  as  myself,  for  she  is  abused  and  mis- 
treated by  her  mother  and  her  family,  and  not  allowed  to  have  any 
correspondence  with  me,  on  pain  of  being  turned  out  of  doors ; 
and,  by  her  father's  will,  she  is  not  an  heir,  unless  she  consents 
never  to  see  me  again,  and  gets  a  divorce  from  me.  Her  only 
resource  is  to  accept  a  home  there  on  any  terms,  as  I  am  no  longer 
able  to  provide  her  one  or  protect  her ;  but  she  defies  them  to 
force  her  to  speak  ill  of  me,  to  desert  me,  or  suffer  them  to  speak 
of  a  divorce.  My  God !  I  feel  her  sorrows  more  than  I  do  my 
own !  May  good  angels  protect,  and  God  forever  bless  thee,  my 
noble,,  noble,  wife ! 


COPY  OF  A   LETTEK 

WRITTEN   BY   MONROE   TO    HIS   WIFE,    DATED   NOVEMBER   12,    1855. 

Nannie : — Dear  Nannie,  my  sweet,  my  noble  wife,  what  mis- 
fortunes have  come  upon  us ;  what  a  cruel  fate  is  ours,  rudely  torn 
asunder  in  the  midst  of  joy  and  happiness,  peace  and  love. 
(Alas!  we  loved  too  well  for  this  world — too  well  to  last!)  Oh, 
why  should  this  sorrow  have  come  upon  us,  at  such  a  time,  too, 
when  we  were  and  could  have  been  so  happy  together ;  when  you 
had  just  proved  your  love  to  be  as  deep  and  devoted  as  my  own ; 
when  you  had  just  proved  your  love  and  truth  by  clinging  to  me, 
even  when  discarded  and  disowned  by  your  relations  for  so  doing. 
I  never  knew  how  happy  I  was  until  then,  Nannie,  for  I  never 
knew  before  how  much  you  loved  me.  I  never  knew  how  inex- 
pressibly dear  you  were  to  me,  until  I  thought  I  had  lost  you ;  nor 
can  you  ever  know,  until  you  know  it  in  a  better  world  than  this, 
how  well  I  have  loved  you,  how  well  I  love  you  now.  You  are 
all  the  world  to  me ;  without  you  and  my  child,  without  you  and 
your  love,  I  do  not  wish*  to  live.  Oh!  Nannie,  when  I  have 
seemed  cold  and  harsh  to  you,  it  was  only  because  I  thought  you 


66  LIFE   AJSTD   WRITINGS    OF 

• 

ought  to  have  had  more  confidence  in  me,  and  loved  me  better 
than  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  If  you  had  resented  it  when  your 
friends  insulted  and  abused  me,  I  never  would  have  doubted  you, 
but  loved  you  all  the  better  for  it.  It  wounded  me  to  think  you 
would  allow  them  to  persuade  you  to  leave  me.  It  wounded  me  to 
the  soul,  and  steeled  my  heart  to  hide  all  its  love  and  tenderness 
for  you,  though  my  proud  heart  was  breaking  then  to  own  all  my 
love,  and  to  know  that  you  loved  me  as  well.  Oh  !  Nannie,  had 
your  relatives  ever  treated  me  kindly,  even  as  a  friend  ;  if  I  had 
been  welcome  even  in  their  house ;  if  they  had  shown  but  common 
politeness  toward  me,  I  could  have  loved  them  for  your  sake,  and 
all  would  have  been  well  now ;  but,  alas ! — why  I  know  not — they 
hated  me  from  the  first.  You  can  bear  me  witness,  Nannie,  that 
I  never  mistreated  any  of  them,  or  gave  them  cause  to  abuse  me. 
Oh !  if  your  father  and  mother  had  come  to  me  with  kindness,  I 
would  have  done  any  thing  on  earth  to  please  them,  granted  any 
thing  they  asked,  and  done  as  they  wished,  to  serve  or  please  them. 
If  they  had  not  said  so  much  about  their  wealth,  Nannie,  and  my 
crime  of  being  poor,  but  proud  and  independent ;  if  they  had  done 
their  duty  to  you  as  their  daughter,  and  treated  me  well,  at  least, 
for  your  sake  ;  then  there  would  not  have  been  any  trouble,  your 
father  would  now  be  alive,  and  we  living  happily  together.  Do 
not  think  I  will  justify  my  relations,  Nannie,  for  they,  too,  have 
been  to  blame ;  we  have  all,  no  doubt,  been  more  or  less  to  blame. 
I  have  been  too  proud  and  unbending,  but  you  can  not  blame  me, 
Nannie,  for  refusing  to  let  them  give  me  any  thing,  after  all  they 
said  about  me ;  not  only  charging  me  with  having  married  you 
for  their  money,  but,  also,  with  being  a  spendthrift  and  a  drunk- 
ard ;  and  after  thier  begging  you  to  leave  me,  oh !  why  should  they 
thus  have  sought,  not  only  to  make  my  home  unhappy,  but,  you, 
too,  miserable?  Was  this  the  province,  the  love  and  duty  of 
parents  ?  I  know  you  do  not  and  can  not  blame  me,  and  if  I  had 
acted  otherwise  you  could  not  have  respected  me ;  neither  do  I 
blame  your  father  as  much  as  I  do  others.  I  never  thought  he 
meant  to  do  wrong — bat,  alas !  your  mother  and  the  town  tattlers 
completely  poisoned  his  mind  against  me,  and  when  you  hear  all, 
you  will  not  blame  me,  Nannie,  for  his  death.  As  God  is  my 
Judge,  /did  not  bring  on  this  sorrow.  I  wished  to  avoid  it,  but 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONROE.  69 

could  not.  I  was  forced  into  it,  and  acted  only  in  self-defense  to 
the  last.  I  am  unfortunate,  but  not  criminal ;  unhappy,  but  guilty 
of  no  crime  but  that  the  laws  of  God  and  man  allow.  No  human 
being  can  regret  the  sad  termination  of  this  affair  more  than  I  do. 
It  has  surely  brought  more  misery  upon  me  and  mine  than  any  one 
else.  It  has  torn  me  from  my  wife  and  child  whom  I  loved  better 
than  life  itself,  and  cast  me  into  prison,  where  I  may  have  to  stay 
until  spring,  if  I  do  not  die  before  of  cold  and  exposure.  Oh ! 
Nannie,  you  can  not  imagine  what  a  lamp  it  is,  lighting  up  the 
gloomy  darkness  of  this  dungeon,  the  thought  that,  though  unfor- 
tunate and  suffering  here,  you  are — you  will  be  true  to  me  still ! 
Now  is  the  time,  Nannie,  in  adversity,  and  trial,  and  trouble,  for 
a  wife  to  prove  her  love  and  devotion,  and  nobly,  my  sweet  wife, 
have  you  stood  the  test !  May  you  be  happy,  Nannie ;  may  you 
find  others  to  love  you  half  as  well  as  I  have  done,  and  ever  shall. 
I  want  to  see  you  and  my  child  again.  Surely  your  mother  can 
not  prevent  your  coming  to  see  me.  Come,  and  let  me  know 
what  you  intend  to  do,  and  what  you  wish.  May  God  forever 
bless  you  and  my  child.  I  will  try  and  bear  this  sorrow  for  your 
sakes.  Farewell,  until  I  see  you  again.  May  all  good  angels 

comfort  you. 

Your  unfortunate,  but  devoted  husband, 

A.  F.  MONKOE. 


MY  DESTINY. 

"  L'HOMME  PROPOSE,  ET  DIEU  DISPOSE." 

Napoleon  and  Byron,  two  of  the  most  gifted  but  unfortunate 
men  on  earth,  both  believed  in  destiny,  and  both  met  a  sad,  strange 
fate.  Napoleon  was  the  "  child  of  destiny,"  and  Byron  the 
"  sensitive  plant"  of  misfortune.  I  do  not  quote  their  examples 
and  sorrows  to  compare  them  with  my  own,  but  merely  as  a 
proof  that  all,  both  great  and  small,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor, 
master  and  slave,  king  and  subject,  priest  and  laity,  must  sub- 
mit, alike  to  fate,  whose  stern  and  irrevocable  decrees,  whether 
for  good  or  evil,  surround,  embrace,  and  encircle  all,  governing 


70  LIFE   AND    WRITINGS    OF 

and  controlling   our  lives  and  actions,  from  the  cradle   to  the 
grave. 

My  own  life  has  been  a  curious,  "  a  shifting  scene,"  composed 
of  good  and  evil,  smiles  and  tears ;  always  succeeding,  and 
always  failing,  too.  My  life  has  been  of  extremes.  My  hopes 
and  fears,  thoughts  and  feelings,  loves  and  hates,  have  always 
been  in  extreme.  My  whole  life,  my  fate  is  but  an  extreme  one 
way  or  other.  I  think,  feel,  act,  and  suffer  in  the  extreme.  Why 
this  is  I  know  not,  I  only  know  the  fact,  but  can  not  change  my 
nature.  My  good  and  ill  luck  in  life,  my  fortunes  and  misfortunes, 
have  been  a  succession  of  extremes ;  first  extremely  happy,  and 
then  extremely  miserable :  one  hour  success,  and  hope  and  joy ; 
the  next,  doubt,  despair  and  ruin.  Now  all  this,  from  every  thing 
I  can  see,  I  take  to  be  FATE.  My  whole  life  has  been  what  seems 
an  accident — a  succession  of  circumstances  and  accidents,  call 
them  what  you  will,  have  made  me  what  I  am,  deciding  all  I  have 
been,  and  may  be  hereafter,  for  "  the  end  is  not  yet,"  and  my  fate 
is  not  quite,  though  so  nearly  fulfilled. 


SOLITUDE  AND  KEFLECTIONS. 

Alone,  here,  shut  up  from  the  world,  buried  as  it  were  in  this 
living  tomb,  in  silence  and  solitude,  I  have  at  length  found  time 
to  look  into  my  own  heart  and  to  know  myself.  Alas  !  in  this 
secret  examination  of  my  own  soul,  I  find  much  to  deplore,  much 
to  regret.  Though  deeply  and  bitterly  wronged  by  my  savage 
mother-in-law,  Ellington  himself  and  family,  I  have  not  been 
altogether  blameless,  myself.  Ellington,  I  always  thought  and 
still  think,  was  a  good  and  true  man,  and  would  but  for  his  wife, 
have  done  his  duty  to  his  daughter  and  to  me.  I  think  and  believe 
he  meant  to  do  right,  but  was  led  to  wrong  his  better  nature  by 
his  wife  and  others.  As  to  his  wife,  who  has  been  the  sole  origin- 
ator and  cause  of  all  this  trouble  and  affliction,  I  have  but  little 
to  say,  for  words  are  vain  and  inadequate  to  express  the  foul  de- 
formity of  a  being  so  lost  to  humanity  and  heaven — a  blot  upon 


ADOLPHUS    F.    MONROE.  71 

her  sex,  and  stain  to  the  human  race.  Unnatural  woman  and  un- 
natural mother,  God  and  her  own  conscience  will  haunt  her,  wring 
her  wretched  heart,  and  sink  her  soul  to  perdition  with  speedy, 
sure  and  dreadful  vengeance. 

Jim  Ellington,  with  all  the  town  tattlers,  news-mongers,  and 
busy-bodies,  I  leave  to  his  own  reward.  I  (though  provoked 
beyond  human  endurance,  and  goaded  beyond  mortal  forbearance 
with  petty  annoyances  and  galling  insults,  particularly  bitter  and 
wounding  to  my  proud  and  sensitive  soul,  and  warm,  ardent,  and 
passionate  nature),  am  not  altogether  blameless  myself.  I  was 
ever  too  impulsive  and  imprudent  in  my  words  and  feelings.  I 
never  could  be  a  fawning  sycophant  or  hypocrite.  Had  I  pos- 
sessed the  power  of  cool  and  calculating  worldly  deceit  and  selfish- 
ness, or  been  less  open  and  frank  in  my  nature  I  had  not  now 
been  here.  Long  before  my  marriage,  I  knew  of  the  hatred  and 
opposition  of  my  wife's  relations  to  me,  but  fondly,  vainly  hoped 
that  time,  and  so  close  and  dear  a  tie  would  soften  their  feelings 
to  kindness,  if  not  to  love,  for  Nannie's  sake ;  and,  for  her  sake, 
I  should  have  borne  more  and  longer  than  I  did.  I  have  been 
too  hasty  to  resent  the  injuries  and  wrongs  they  heaped  upon  me ; 
I  have  been  too  proud  and  sensitive,  too  unbending  and  unforgiv- 
ing, too  ready  to  resent  and  return  an  insult.  By  prudence  and 
mildness,  time  and  patience,  I  might  have  overcome  their  malice 
and  hatred ;  but,  alas !  though  easy  to  be  led  by  kindness,  I  never 
could  be  driven.  Nannie,  though  much  to  blame,  was  never 
intentionally  so ;  young  and  inexperienced,  she  was  too  easily  led 
and  influenced  by  others,  though  her  very  errors  were  but  proofs 
of  her  love  and  devotion  for  me.  Of  a  warm  and  ardent  temper- 
ament, she  loved  me  with  all  the  fervor  of  her  true  and  guileless 
heart,  with  a  depth  and  tenderness  of  affection,  and  an  undying 
devotion  that  few,  very  few  men  are  blest  with  on  this  earth,  even 
in  the  best  of  wives.  Forgive  me,  Nannie,  oh!  forgive  me,  if  I 
have  sometimes  seemed  careless  and  indifferent  to  your  fond  and 
tender  caresses.  If  I  have  sometimes  seemed  cold  and  harsh  in 
my  words  and  manner  toward  you,  when  troubled  and  oppressed 
with  the  trials  and  cares  of  business  ;  it  sprang  not  from  any  want 
of  love  for  you.  Oh !  I  was  ever  ready  to  share  all  my  joys  with 
you,  but  hid  my  sorrows  in  my  own  bosom,  that  I  might  not  give 


72  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF 

your  gentle  heart  one  useless  pang.  If  I  have  not  always  s?town 
and  expressed  that  tenderness  and  affection  which  thy  fond  and 
yearning  heart  exacted  and  required  (women  ever  cherish  and 
remember  the  little  tokens  of  love  and  regard  more  than  we  are 
aware  of),  believe  me,  it  was  not  because  I  did  not  know  and 
feel  your  worth  and  truth,  or  prized  your  affection.  Ah  !  forgive 
me  for  any  such  apparent  indifference.  My  heart  was  ever  fond 
and  true  as  yours,  and  I  was  proud  of  and  happy  in  your  love. 
Oh  !  Nannie,  I  have  been  too  much  blessed  in  the  possession  of 
you  and  your  love,  I  fear,  to  be  sufficiently  grateful  to  Heaven  for 
all  my  happiness.  "We  never  appreciate  our  greatest  blessings  as 
we  should  until  they  are  taken  from  us.  I  never  knew  how  happy 
I  was  in  you  and  your  love,  or  how  much  I  loved  you,  until  now 
when  I  am  torn  from  the  rich  blessings  of  home,  of  wife  and  child, 
and  all  the  fond  endearments  of  mutual  love  and  confidence.  Oh! 
Nannie,  my  heart  is  wrung  to  think  that  you  must  suffer  for  my 
sake.  May  God  grant  to  make  you  happy. 
December  3,  1855. 


FATE. 

WE  are  creatures  of  circumstances,  though,  to  some  extent,  we 
are  free  agents,  or  seem  so ;  yet,  "  there  is  a  destiny  which  shapes 
our  ends,  rough  hew  them  as  we  will."  "  IShomme  propose,  et 
Dieu  dispose"  A  thousand  little  circumstances  over  which  we 
have  no  control,  and  of  which  we  frequently  have  no  knowledge, 
influence  our  actions  and  conduct,  shape  our  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings, and  affect  our  whole  lives ;  thus  forcing  us  to  meet,  make,  and 
fulfill  our  destiny.  I  have  always  been,  more  or  less,  a  fatalist; 
made  such  by  the  strange  singularity  and  fatality  of  my  own  life 
I  will  only  speak  of  a  few  instances  of  my  past  life,  since  I  first 
came  to  Illinois ;  of  my  course  and  the  circumstances  that  led  to 
my  present  unfortunate  position. 

By  an  accident,  very  trifling  in  itself,  I  first  was  induced  to 
come  to  Charles  town,  Illinois.  The  morning  after  my  arrival, 
before  making  myself  known  to  my  relatives,  I  repaired  to  the 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MOKKOE.  73 

barber-shop,  in  company  with  a  man  named  David  Hamlin,  whose 
acquaintance  I  then  formed.  While  there,  he  exhibited  to  me  a 
miniature  of  a  young  lady,  his  cousin,  he  said,  which  he  had 
stolen  from  her,  for  mischief.  I  admired  the  picture  very  much, 
and  remarked  that  I  had  seen  the  original,  as  the  face  looked  very 
familiar  to  me ;  but  when  he  told  me  her  name  was  Nannie  El- 
lington, I  knew  she  was  a  stranger ;  yet,  I  warned  him  laugh- 
ingly, that  if  she  was  his  "  sweetheart,"  I  was  destined,  I  thought, 
to  marry  her  myself;  that  she  was  the  first  lady  I  had  seen  in 
Charleston,  and  if  I  was  half  so  well  pleased  with  the  rest  of  the 
town,  I  certainly  would  make  it  my  home  for  life. 

One  year  from  that  time  I  had  not  met  the  original  of  the  da- 
guerreotype, and  I  was  about  to  leave  the  State  again  forever,  when 
an  accident  happened,  which  forced  me  to  prolong  my  stay  another 
year :  I  most  strangely  got  into  a  difficulty  with  a  man  by  the  name 
of  Allen,  and  became  entangled  so  in  the  meshes  of  the  law,  that 
I  was  compelled  to  stay  a  year  more  than  I  had  anticipated.  By 
accident  I  met  and  was  introduced  to  the  original  of  the  daguerre- 
otype. I  was  much  pleased  with  her,  and  she  seemed  so  with  me. 
She  invited  me  to  call  and  see  her,  which,  for  a  long  time  I  failed 
to  do.  She  sent  me  word,  repeatedly,  that  she  would  be  pleased 
to  have  me  call  upon  her.  I  finally  went  there,  by  accident,  to  a 
party.  By  accident,  I  went  alone,  and  by  accident  I  was  left  alone 
with  her  after  the  company  had  retired,  and  though  with  her  but 
a  few  moments  became  aware  that  I  loved  her,  and  was  beloved  in 
return.  By  accident  she  first  confessed  her  love,  and  I  left  her 
engaged  to  be  married  to  her,  and  proud  and  ha^py  of  my  good 
fortune.  I  met  with  many  rivals,  better  known  and  wealthier  and 
more  fortunate  in  the  good  will  of  "the  old  folks," but,  thanks  be 
to  the  good  faith  and  love  of  Nannie,  I  was  the  conqueror.  We 
were  married — but  against  the  will  of  Nannie's  mother,  and  of  all 
the  town-tattlers,  and  match-makers.  But,  in  spite  of  them  all, 
we  lived  happy,  regardless  of  their  envy  and  malice,  until  another 
accident  occurred  with  some  of  our  friends  (my  wife  and  my  re- 
lations), which  caused  her  mother  to  rage  a-fresh  against  me;  to 
abuse  me,  and  endeavor  to  effect  a  separation  between  myself  and 
Nannie.  By  a  succession  of  accidents  to  aid  her  malice,  she  at 
length  brought  about  an  inveterate  hatred  of  her  husband,  family, 


74  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF 

and  friends  against  me,  but  without  effect,  upon  ray  wife,  at  least, 
though  they  nearly  drove  her  to  madness  and  me  to  desperation. 
By  an  accident,  James  Ellington  and  Byrd  Monroe  quarreled,  and 
drew  me  into  it.  By  an  accident,  I  met  Ellington,  and  we  spoke 
of  his  son's  quarrel,  and  he  being  excited,  abused  and  attacked 
me ;  when,  in  self-defense  I  shot  him,  from  which  he  died.  By 
accidents  and  misconceptions  the  whole  affair  was  brought  on, 
and,  what  seems  stranger  still,  the  night  before  the  affair  which 
resulted  in  Ellington's  death,  and  my  arrest  and  committal  here, 
my  wife  dreamed  that  her  father  murdered  me,  and  that  he  was 
dead  himself;  and  I  dreamed  three  times,  that  some  one  told  me 
I  was  sleeping  the  last  time  with  my  wife ;  and  several  expressed 
fears  that  something  sad  would  happen  that  day,  so  much  so  that 
I  promised  Nannie  to  be  on  my  guard,  and  to  stay  at  home  that 
day,  but,  by  accident,  I  was  called  away,  and  met  with  an  accident 
which  has  up  to  this  time,  and  may  forever  prevent  my  return. 

These  are  a  few  of  the  accidents  and  circumstances  which  have 
produced  all  this  past  happiness  and  all  this  present  misery.  I 
have  loved  my  wife  as  man  seldom  loves  woman,  and  I  have  been 
blessed  in  her  love  beyond  the  common  lot  of  man.  We  were 
very  happy ;  we  are  now  as  miserable.  Whether  it  may  be  per- 
mitted by  fate  for  us  to  ever  be  happy  again  together,  I  know  not. 
I  can  only  hope  for  the  best,  and  leave  our  cause  in  the  hands  of 
heaven. 

December  3,  1855. 


MY  JEWELS. 

I  HAD  a  jewel — a  rich  and  noble  jewel — bright,  brilliant,  and 
beautiful,  with  a  few  slight  spots  upon  its  surface,  which  seemed 
but  to  increase  rather  than  diminish  its  beauty  and  worth ;  and  I 
loved  it  with  a  miser's  love.  It  was  the  joy  of  my  heart,  the  light 
of  my  life,  and  the  pride  of  my  soul.  It  was  my  beacon-star  of 
hope  and  love.  Day  by  day  I  wore  it  on  my  bosom,  proud  of  its 
sweet  luster  and  beauty,  and  blessed  in  its  untold  worth  ;  and 
night  by  night  I  pressed  it  to  my^heart,  and  kissed  it  o'er  and  o'er 
again,  blessed,  beyond  expression,  in  every  mutual  caress,  and 


ADOLPIIUS   F.    MONROE.  75 

fond  and  tender  glance  of  its  soft,  sweet,  and  love-lit  eyes ;  while 
its  rosy  cheeks  were  suffused  with  the  bright  blushes  of  modesty 
and  love,  and  its  ripe,  red  lips  were  glued  to  mine  in  long  and 
lingering  kisses  of  rapture  and  bliss.  Oh  !  I  was  never  weary  of 
loving  and  caressing  my  jewel,  my  own,  my  beautiful ! 

Upon  its  bosom  there  grew  a  pearl,  a  sweet  and  tiny  gem ; 
bright  and  lovely  as  angel's  eyes,  and  I  was  wild  with  the  thrilling 
excess  of  love,  and  joy,  and  happiness.  Alas!  I  fear  I  worshiped 
them  more  than  I  did  my  God,  for  soon,  oh!  how  soon,  were 
they  torn  from  me  by  the  cruel,  envious  hands  of  FATE.  By  the 
stern  decree  of  destiny,  in  one  day,  in  one  hour,  I  lost  my  all,  my 
gem  and  jewel,  my  fortune  and  my  liberty. 

That  jewel  was  my  wife  ;  that  gem  was  my  child!  Oh !  God, 
grant,  in  mercy  grant,  that  they  may  once  more  be  mine  again. 

December  5,  1855. 


k?  ?;•«*« J 

LIFE. 

.-•]ft»»  'Mf-l  •- 

I  SAW  a  youth  wandering  upon  the  shores  of  time;  restless 
and  weary  h.e  seemed,  straying  hither  and  thither,  as  if  he  sought 
to  drown  his  soul's  unrest  in  search  of  pleasure,  or  new  and  dan- 
gerous adventures.  Sometimes  he  would  suddenly  start  forward 
with  rapid,  hasty  steps,  as  if  in  pursuit  of  a  fair  and  fleeting  form, 
which  seemed  fading  forever  in  the  dim  distance  far  before  him ; 
then  pausing  again,  he  would  look  back  upon  the  path  he  had  just 
traveled,  back  upon  the  past  as  if  in  sorrow  and  regret ;  then  turn, 
and  with  eager,  anxious  steps  haste  forward  again,  as  if  to  catch 
the  object  of  his  vain  pursuit,  till  wearied  at  length  with  disap- 
pointment and  fatigue,  he  sank  upon  the  earth,  and  gave  vent  to 
his  sad  complainings : 

"Oh  !  why,"  he  murmured,  "  are  our  hopes  to  be  thus  forever 
cheated  ?  Why  should  man  be  thus  forever  doomed  to  pursue  the 
false  and  fleeting  form  and  airy  phantom  of  happiness,  which  ever 
eludes  his  grasp  ?  Oh !  that  some  good  spirit  would  but  teach  me 
how  to  secure  this  prize,  and  set  my  weary  soul  at  rest!" 

Immediately,  as  if  at  his  invocation,  three  forms  appeared.     At 


76  LIFE   AND    WRITINGS    OF 

MB  right  hand  stood  a  bright  and  glorious  presence ;  at  his  left  a 
dark  and  shadowy  outline  of  an  evil,  shrinking  form  ;  in  front  an 
old  man  of  venerable  form  and  appearance.  The  latter  gazed 
with  pitying  eye  upon  the  restless,  wearied  youth,  and  thus  ad- 
dressed him: 

"  Alas !  my  friend,  it  is  not  ours  to  give  what  thou  requirest. 
We  can  but  place  the  means  before  thee.  It  is  the  province  of 
these  spirits  on  thine  either  side  to  make  or  mar.  They  are  the 
guardians  of  thy  fate,  the  angels  of  thy  destiny.  The  angel  upon 
thy  right  of  such  celestial  light  and  heavenly  form,  is  thy  guardian 
angel,  who  is  ever  by  thy  side  to  appeal  to  thy  better  nature,  and  to 
whisper  sweet  words  of  hope  and  truth  within  thine  ear,  ever  coun- 
seling thee  to  thine  own  good.  Listen,  oh !  listen  to  that  '  still, 
small  voice.'  'T  will  lead  thee  to  do  good  ;  and  to  do  good  is  to 
be  happy.  That  upon  thine  left,  that  dim,  and  dark,  and  shadowy 
form,  is  thy  evil  spirit,  who  appeals  to  thy  passions,  to  thy  impa- 
tient desires  and  imaginings.  Oh !  beware  of  the  charms  thou 
wilt  meet  in  its  siren  voice  and  fatal  power  1  Be  wise,  and  learn, 
and  know  thyself.  Be  temperate  and  moderate  in  all  things. 
Have  forbearance  and  kindness  for  other's  faults.  Judge  not  par- 
tially. Consider  thyself.  Have  '  Faith,  and  Hope,  and  Charity.' 
Govern  thy  passions.  Love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself.  Be  slow  to 
anger — slow  to  resent  and  punish — quick  to  forgive  and  forget, 
and  thou  wilt  be  happy  and  at  length  find  that  for  which  thou 
longeth,  peace  and  rest.  Peace  is  happiness,  and  rest  is  peace. 
The  grave,  too,  is  rest,  but  rest  is  also  beyond  the  grave ;  beyond 
time  and  death — the  boon  of  eternity." 

"When  he  had  finished  speaking,  the  old  man's  form  vanished 
away  into  airy  nothingness,  and  the  seeker  after  happiness  pursued 
his  life-march,  attended  by  his  two  angels. 

Oh !  how  I  longed  to  lay  down  my  mortality  and  put  on  my 
immortality,  and  in  the  quietude  of  the  grave  forget  my  troubles 
and  persecutions.  When,  oh!  when  shall  my  "weary  spirit  flee 
away  and  be  at  rest  ?" 

How  forcibly  I  can  feel  the  Psalmist's  wail :  "I  am  sick  at  heart ; 
my  soul  is  weak ;  the  flesh  is  strong,  but  now  subdued."  I  am 
weary,  weary  of  life  and  hope,  of  doubt  and  fear,  and,  oh !  how  I 
long  for  death. 


ADOLPHDS   F.    MONROE.  77 


A  DARKER  VIEW  OF  HUMAN  NATURE. 

NANNIE,  my  wife,  has  herself  caused,  in  a  great  measure,  the 
unfortunate  event  so  lately  enacted,  and  to  a  great  extent  has 
brought  on  all  these  misfortunes.  She  from  the  first  time  I  ever 
met  her,  loved  me — loved  me  well  and  truly,  so  much  so  that  she 
first  declared  her  passion ;  and  this  devotion  and  excess  of  love 
on  her  part  first  caused  me  to  propose  and  resolve  to  make  her 
mine.  Willful  and  obstinate,  warm  and  passionate,  she  braved 
her  relatives'  opposition,  and  loved  me,  I  think,  the  better  for  it ; 
met  me  often,  and,  finally,  married  me  against  their  will.  She 
was  ever  fond  and  tender  in  her  love  for  me,  and  like  all  of  her  dis- 
position, very  exacting  and  requiring  in  the  due  and  full  return 
of  her  own  warmth  and  tenderness.  I  was  ever  careless  of  out- 
side show,  and  though  I  loved  Nannie  with  all  my  heart  and  soul, 
I  fear  I  never  was,  at  least  not  always,  as  considerate  and  careful 
to  show  it,  or  to  return  her  own  quick  advances  and  warm  endear- 
ments, as  I  should  have  been.  My  heart  reproves  me,  now,  for 
not  noticing  or  returning  her  tender  words  and  fond  caresses,  with 
which  she  met  me  ever,  even  when  absent  only  an  hour.  Often, 
when  oppressed  with  business  and  care,  and  harassed  by  the  malice 
of  her  own  relations,  I  have  went  home  to  my  meals  unfit  to 
notice  or  return  the  fondness  of  her  welcome  and  the  tenderness 
of  her  caresses ;  and  though  my  heart  was  sensible  of  and  grate- 
ful for  all,  yet,  I  fear,  I  often  seemed  to  her  fond  exacting  heart, 
indifferent  and  cold.  Before  my  marriage  I  was  a  sad  rake,  court- 
ing and  engaging  myself  to  every  girl  I  met.  This  Nannie  knew, 
and,  after  I  told  her  all  my  follies,  I  was  too  confident  and  secure 
in  her  love  and  devotion  to  me,  and  of  my  own  power,  to  be 
strictly  just  to  her  and  myself.  I  knew  her  love  and  confidence  in 
me  so  well,  that  I  fear  I  sometimes  abused  both.  There  was  one 
of  my  amorous  engagements  (the  last,  I  believe,  before  my  mar- 
riage, and  of  which  I  fully  informed  her,  before  and  after  we  were 
married),  in  which  I  now  believe  I  did  wrong.  I  allude  to  my 

engagement  to .     After  I  was  married,  for  a  long  time,  I 

foolishly  kept  up  my  flirtation  with ;    and  that,  with  my 


78  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF 

frequent  carelessness,  coldness  and  indifference  to  Nannie,  now 
makes  me  feel  that  I  wronged,  grossly  wronged  and  outraged  her 
trust  in  me. 


She  would  willingly  have  sacrificed  family,  friends,  and  all  the 
endearing  and  hallowed  associations  that  lingered  around  her 
childhood's  home,  and  been  more  than  compensated — aye,  per- 
fectly happy  in  my  love.  But  I  was  goaded  to  madness  by  the 
treatment  and  insults  I  ever  and  continually  received  at  the  hands 
of  the  Ellingtons,  and,  finally,  give  way  to  my  long  pent  feelings 
of  indignation — I  began  to  return  insult  for  insult.  My  poor  Nan- 
nie, who  had  of  late  grown  somewhat  jealous  and  doubtful  of  my 
love,  for  which  her  sweet  heart  was  always  yearning  and  only  re- 
quired, was,  by  these  doiibts  and  yearnings,  very  uneasy  and  dis- 
satisfied, and  often  complained  to  them  of  my  apparent  coldness 
and  indifference,  and  often  complained  to  me  of  the  treatment 
she  experienced  from  her  family  (only  seeking  to  find  if  I  truly 
loved  her).  Encouraged  by  these  things,  her  mother  became 
bolder  in  her  abuse  of  me,  and  openly  begged  Nannie  to  leave 
me.  She  came  to  my  house — quarreled  with  my  mother — ordered 
her,  my  mother,  out  of  my  own  house — and  then  came  to  my 
house  again  to  beg  Nannie  to  leave  me ;  accusing  me  of  having 
married  Nannie  for  her  money /  that  she  (Mrs.  Ellington)  had 
never  liked  me ;  and  that  I  was  a  spendthrift  and  a  drunkard,  and 
that  if  they  ever  gave  me  any  thing  I  would  spend  it  for  whisky, 
etc., — against  all  of  which  accusations  my  soul  rose  up  in  arms.  I 
then  ordered  Mrs.  Ellington  and  my  own  mother  (oh !  God,  for- 
give me  for  that  last !)  never  to  come  to  my  house  again,  unless  they 
could  come  in  peace  and  kindness  toward  Nannie  and  I.  Satisfied 
I  was  is  in  the  right,  I  resolved  and  swore  never  to  receive  any 
thing  from  my  wife's  parents,  since  they  had  charged  me  with 
such  baseness,  and  publicly  declared  they  never  would  give  Nan- 
nie any  thing  unless  she  would  leave  me.  I  then  refused  to  let 
Nannie  visit  them,  thinking  it  best  and  not  right  that  she  would 
desire  to  visit  a  house  where  I  was  abused  so  much,  and  not  wel- 
comed to,  even  as  a  son-in-law,  and  maddened,  too,  to  find  that 
she  did  not  resent  their  insults,  as  I  thought  she  ought  to  do. 

Ellington  about  this  time,  refused  to  pay  for  a  set  of  china  which 
they  had  presented  to  Nannie  when  we  were  first  married,  and 
sent  and  took  away  a  cow  which  had  been  given  her,  and  treated 
me  and  my  mother  very  harshly.  He  was  led  to  act  thus,  no 
doubt,  by  his  wife,  and  the  many  tattlers  who  were  striving  to  in- 
crease the  flame.  I  had  always  liked  Nannie's  father,  and  loved 
him,  too,  for  he  was  a  good  man,  deserving  of  any  one's  love  ;  but 
this  last  was  too  much,  more  than  I  could  bear,  and  I  became 
enraged,  and  made  Nannie  return  all  and  every  thing  which  they 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONKOE.  79 

had  given  her ;  and  then  all  was  explained  between  us,  and  I 
verily  believe  we  loved  each  other  better,  and  were  happier  in 
each  other's  love,  than  if  nothing  had  ever  transpired  to  mar  our 
peace.  But,  alas  !  this  peace  and  happiness  were  not  to  last.  El- 
lington, driven  on  by  his  unnatural  wife,  still  pursued  me,  till  the 
difficulty  which  ended  in  his  death  and  my  imprisonment  occurred, 
for  all  of  which  Mrs.  Ellington  must  one  day  answer  before  God ! 
for,  verily,  but  for  her,  and  her  hatred  and  insane  abuse  of  me,  all 
this  sorrow  had  never  been.  I  believe  Ellington  meant  well,  and 
would  if  left  to  himself,  have  done  right ;  but,  driven  on  by  his 
wife  and  a  thousand  busy  tattlers,  he  abused  me — I  resented — he 
attacked  me — I  defended  myself,  and  his  death  and  my  incarcera- 
tion were  the  consequences.  Oh  !  let  parents,  by  all  these  warn- 
ings and  misfortunes,  learn  to  use  more  charity  and  kindness 
toward  their  children,  and  never  oppose,  to  such  excess,  their  free 
and  settled  choice.  How  much,  oh !  how  much  misery  have  such 
family  jars  and  disturbances  brought  on,  when  all  might  have 
been  peace  and  happiness  !  But  for  this  unjust  hatred  and  abuse 
of  me  by  Mrs.  Ellington,  Nannie  and  I  would  have  been  happy 
still,  and  Ellington  alive. 

After  my  arrest  and  commitment,  and  Ellington's  death,  Nan- 
nie was  left  without  a  home  or  protector.  By  her  father's  will  she 
was  disinherited  unless  she  procured  a  divorce  from  me.  She 
was  not  suffered  to  stay  in  her  mother's  house,  except  upon  condi- 
tion of  never  seeing  me  again.  I  was  committed  to  jail,  without 
bail,  charged  with  murder,  and  the  whole  community  excited 
against  me,  and  nothing,  apparently,  to  hope,  but  that  I  would  be 
sent  to  the  penitentiary.  What  could  Nannie  then  do — alone, 
friendless,  and  helpless,  as  she  was — with  no  home  to  go  to?  She 
was  forced  to  accede  to  their  wishes,  and  accept  a  home  with 
them  upon  their  own  terms. 

[  In  the  following  paper  will  be  found  Monroe's  version  of  the 
killing  of  his  father-in-law.  The  paper,  as  originally  written, 
contains  nothing  valuable  save  what  we  have  extracted.  It  is  a 
letter  to  his  wife,  filled  with  requests,  and  expressions  of  endear- 
ment, and  valuable  only  to  her.  He  conceived  it  but  a  simple  act 
of  justice  due  to  his  wife  that  he  should  state  the  truth,  the  whole 
truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth  to  her,  in  regard  to  the  killing  of 
her  father.  It  is  needless  to  state  that  the  important  features  in 
the  case,  as  stated  below,  are  fully  corroborated  by  the  evidence 
deduced  at  the  trial  in  which  he  was  convicted. — EDITOR.] 


80  LIFE    AND   WRITINGS   OF 


A  STATEMENT  OF  FACTS. 

IN  justice  to  myself,  Nannie,  as  due  to  you,  I  feel  called  upon  to 
narrate  the  true  circumstances  of  this  last  sad  affair.  They  are 
these : 

On  the  night  of  the  18th  of  October,  Byrd  Monroe  came  to  me 
very  much  excited  (having  already  sent  Howlett  to  me),  and  re- 
quested me  to  go  with  him,  as  he  had  just  had  a  difficulty  with 
James  Ellington,  in  which  he  (James  E..)  had  said  your  father 
had  given  him  (Byrd  Monroe)  and  me  the  lie.  I  went  with  him, 
but  in  good  humor.  "We  did  not  find  your  father,  but  he  and  Jim 
quarreled  again  ;  in  which  I  took  no  part,  but  laughed  at  them ; 
only  at  the  last  I  told  Jim  that  if  his  father  or  any  one  else  gave 
me  the  lie,  I  would  then  tell  them  they  lied.  We  parted,  and  I 
came  home  and  narrated  to  you  all  that  occurred,  as  you  will  re- 
member, and  I  also  promised  you  I  would  not  have  a  difficulty 
with  any  of  them,  if  I  could  help  it,  unless  I  was  attacked ;  and 
that  I  only  asked,  as  I  had  ever  done,  to  let  me  alone.  The  next 
morning  I  met  your  father  accidentally  in  the  street,  and  the  affair 
of  the  night  before  was  mentioned.  I  told  him  that  I  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it,  and  that  I  had  been  sent  for  and  dragged  into  it,  and 
that  Jim  had  said  that  Tie  had  accused  me  of  lying.  He  then 
gave  me  the  lie,  and  offered  to  strike  me  with  his  cane.  I  drew 
back,  and  told  him  not  to  strike  me.  He  then  proposed  and  in- 
sisted that  I  should  accompany  him  to  Byrd  Monroe's.  I  went  with 
him  to  the  store,  but  Byrd  was  not  there.  I  then  asked  him  why 
he  should  blame  me  for  all  that  others  said ;  that  if,  as  he  said, 
Byrd  and  John  Monroe  lied,  let  it  be  with  him  and  them,  and  not 
blame  me  for  all;  that  /had  nothing  to  do  with  it — that  I  knew 
and  cared  nothing  about  it,  nor  did  I  see  any  good  reason  why  I 
should  be  dragged  into  it.  He  then  said  I  had  told  forty  lies,  to 
which  I,  of  course,  gave  the  lie.  He  tlien  struck  me  twice,  and 
choked  me  back  upon  the  counter,  when  I  shot  at  him,  the  ball 
just  grazing  the  temple.  He  then  threw  me  on  the  floor  and 
jumped  upon  me,  choking,  beating  and  gouging  me.  I  called 
upon  the  crowd  to  take  him  off.  John  Eastin  called  out,  "  D — n 
him,  stamp  him  to  death  :"  and  he  refused  to  be  taken  off,  saying 
he  wanted  to  kill  me.  What  was  I  to  do  ?  I  could  not  submit  to 
be  beaten  to  death,  or  have  my  eyes  gouged  out ;  and  then,  as  my 
dernier  resort,  I  fired  again  ;  which  shot,  alas !  proved  fatal.  We 
were  then  separated,  but  too  late.  If  John  Eastin  had  not  told 
him  to  kill  me,  and  they  had  taken  him  off  when  I  called  upon 
them,  all  would  have  been  well.  But  what  else  could  I  have 
done?  He  was  a  strong  and  powerful  man;  I  was  small  and 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONROE.  81 


weak  in  physical  strength.  I  did  not  wish  to  hurt  him,  nor  would 
I  have  harmed  a  hair  of  his  head,  but  to  save  myself.  I  acted  in 
self-defense  to  the  last.  I  always  liked  your  father,  and  thought 
him  one  of  the  best  men  in  the  world,  until  he  was  misguided 
and  prejudiced  against  me,  and  abused  and  insulted  me ;  and  even 
then  I  did  not  censure  him  so  much  as  I  did  others.  It  is  not  ne- 
cessary for  me  to  speak  of  what  has  previously  passed.  That  you 
already  know,  and  how  much  I  had  to  bear ;  and  if  I  did  do  wrong, 
't  was  by  returning  defiance  and  contempt,  insult  and  abuse,  with 
prompt  resentment.  For  your  sake,  I  should  have  borne  more  ; 
but  who  is  perfect  ?  As  to  the  threats  which  I  hear  so  much  said 
about,  I  never  made  any  more  than  you  know,  which  was  to  de- 
fend myself  if  they  attacked  me,  as  I  heard  so  often  they  intended 
to  do.  But  I  am  here  and  can  not  help  myself,  and  so,  of  course, 
many  lies  and  much  abuse  will  be  heaped  upon  me. 


A  REQUEST. 

NANNIE,  I  am  no  religious  bigot,  no  canting  hypocrite.  I 
despise,  heartily  despise  the  hollow,  disgusting  mummeries  of  all 
the  reverend  fools,  and  the  whole  sanctimonious  crew.  I  despise 
them  all — there's  no  religion  in  them ;  but,  still,  Nannie,  I  am,  or 
hope  I  am,  a  Christian — my  heart  tells  me  I  arn.  God  does  not  re- 
quire loud,  open,  public  professions  from  the  street  corners  and  the 
house-tops,  but  daily,  hourly  love  and  worship,  and  pleasing  to 
Him  is  the  closet  Christian.  Long  faces  and  prayers,  hollow 
voices  and  sanctimonious  airs,  make  up  the  sum  of  worldly  reli- 
gion. But  the  true  Christian  believes  in  his  heart,  and  worships 
in  silence,  practicing  '  Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity.' 

"Believe  and  you  shall  be  saved."  "Thou  shalt  be  buried 
with  me  in  baptism."  "  By  the  Holy  Spirit  and  by  water  ye  are 
born  again." 

My  request  is,  Nannie,  that  you  will  be  baptised,  and  that  by 
immersion.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  join  any  church — I  do  not  care 
whether  you  do  or  not ;  nor,  if  you  do,  which  one,  so  you  will  be 
baptised,  for  I  know  you  believe,  is  all  I  ask.  I  hope  we  shall 
meet  again,  in  a  better  land.  But,  at  least,  there's  no  promise 
to  those  who  do  not  believe,  and  are  not  baptised.  This  is  a 
simple  request,  Nannie,  and  it  may  be  simple  in  me  to  make  it: 
yet,  I  hope,  you  will  do  what  I  ask  —  be  baptised  by  immersion. 

DOLPII. 


82  LIFE  AND   WRITINGS   OF 

LEAVING  HOME. 

A   LEAF   FROM   A  YOUNG   MAN5S   DAIRY. 

ONE  glorious  evening,  in  November,  1851, 1  strolled  away  from 

the  little   town   of ,  in  the  State  of  Kentucky.     Passing 

through  "  Beech  Grove,"  I  spent  an  hour  or  more  in  tracing  out 
the  initials  of  the  many  names  engraven  upon  the  smooth  bark  of 
the  majestic  beech,  seemingly  of  a  century's  growth,  and  towering 
to  the  skies.  Oh  !  if  you  are  a  lover  of  nature,  of  the  sublime  and 
beautiful,  go  seek  its  shades  and  spend  an  hour  in  rambling  there, 
and  deem  yourself  a  happy  man  if  you  should  chance  to  meet 
with  the  fair  maid  of  "Beech  Grove."  Passing  thence  and  taking 
my  way  along  the  clear,  silvery  Licking,  I  soon  found  myself 
seated  upon  a  knoll  in  the  center  of  a  fairy  little  isle,  not  far  from 
town.  'T  was  that  loveliest  of  all  lovely  seasons,  Indian  Summer ; 
though  somewhat  sad  and  melancholy,  I  love  it  well.  'T  is  my 
favorite  season.  There  is  something  so  exquisitely  sweet,  so  touch- 
ingly  beautiful  in  it  to  me,  like  the  sad  sweet  expression  of  sorrow 
upon  the  brow  of  youth,  as  if  the  spirit  of  summer  was  hovering 
over  hill  and  dale  and  sighing  o'er  the  stream  and  through  the 
bowers,  taking  a  last  farewell  of  every  tree  and  flower,  and  linger- 
ing long,  as  a  bride  lingers  to  take  a  last  fond  look  at  her  many 
charms,  ere  she  resigns  them  into  the  rude  arms  of  the  stem  old 
winter. 

The  air  was  soft,  warm  and  balmy — every  gentle  zephyr's  breath 
that  kissed  my  flushed  cheek,  or  fanned  my  feverish  brow,  came 
laden  with  the  fragrance  of  a  thousand  flowers.  The  golden  eye 
of  day  was  fast  closing  upon  the  scene  ;  his  last  bright  glance  lay 
lingering  upon  the  hill  and  stream  in  softened  radiance.  The  sky 
was  clear,  save  one  snowy  cloud,  mirrored  like  an  isle  of  light  in 
the  blue  unfathomable  depth  of  Heaven,  touched  and  tipped  by  the 
rays  of  the  setting  sun,  with  crimson  and  gold,  till  it  looked  like 
some  bright  seraph's  car. 

All  was  calm  and  peaceful  as  an  infant's  dream ;  not  a  sound 
disturbed  the  sweet  and  soothing  influence  of  the  scene,  but  the 
warbling  of  the  birds  in  the  trees,  and  the  low,  soft  murmuring 
of  the  stream  as  its  waves  rolled  in  silver  brightness  at  my  feet. 
Just  at  this  time,  I  was  aroused  from  my  revery  by  that  strange  and 
indiscribable  feeling  of  restless  uneasiness,  by  which  the  mind, 
without  the  aid  of  any  of  the  senses,  becomes  aware  of  the  pre- 
sence of  another.  Looking  up,  I  observed  a  young  man  appa- 
rently some  twenty -two  or  three  years  of  age,  walking  slowly  toward 
me,  from  the  other  extremity  of  the  island.  He  was  too  deeply 
absorbed  in  his  thoughts,  apparently  not  of  the  most  pleasant  char 


ADOLPHU8   F.    MONROE.  83 

acter,  to  perceive  ine.  He  advanced  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
knoll  where  I  sat,  and  threw  himself,  with  a  deep  sigh,  at  the  foot 
of  a  large  hawthorn  tree. 

Strangely  interested  in  spite  of  myself,  I  remained  still  and 
motionless,  gazing  upon  his  sad  pale  face  and  dejected  air ;  and  thus 
became  an  unwilling  listener  to  his  meditations,  which  were  uttered 
aloud  in  a  sad  and  earnest  tone  of  voice : 

"  Here,  in  this  lone  little  isle,  cut  off  as  it  were  and  shut  out 
from  the  world,  I  seat  myself  again,  and  perhaps  for  the  last  time, 
at  the  foot  of  this  tree,  to  recall  many  former  visits  here,  with  a 
lovely  companion,  who  had  an  eye  to  see,  a  heart  to  feel  and  a 
mind  to  appreciate  all  the  magic  beauty  of  this  lone  little  spot. 
Oft,  at  evening,  have  I  wandered  here  with  my  book  and  flute,  to 
enjoy  the  cairn  serenity  of  the  scene,  reading,  musing  and  playing 
all  my  favorite  airs,  till  wearied,  I  have  laid  them  aside  to  listen 
to  the  more  tuneful  melody  of  nature's  own  sweet  choir  of  feathered 
songsters  in  the  grove ;  and  soothed  into  forgetfulness  of  the 
world  and  all  its  cares,  I  have  fallen  asleep,  while  visions,  sweet 
as  ever  visited  our  first  parents  in  the  garden  of  Eden,  hovered 
over  me. 

"Here,  the  young  and  pleasure  seeking  folk  of hold  all 

their  pleasant  gatherings.  Here,  the  first  of  May  last,  was  as- 
sembled a  joyous  party  of  '  beautiful  women  and  brave  men,'  and 
a  fairer  scene  never  met  the  eye  or  made  the  heart  glad ;  there 
were  music  and  dancing,  strolling  and  promenading,  while  some 
were  reclining  in  listless  repose  upon  the  velvet-like  sward ;  there 
was  the  clear,  ringing  laugh  of  merry  maidens,  sweet  as  the 
echoes  of  a  silver  bugle ;  there  was  some  flirting,  a  little  coquetting, 
and  much  down  right  courting,  done  that  day ;  there  were  whisper- 
ing and  blushing,  ogling  of  eyes  and  squeezing  of  hands,  all  sea- 
soned with  the  most  delicate  refreshments  and  generous  wines.  I 
never  can  forget  that  scene,  so  bright,  so  full  of  joy.  If  I  should 
live  on  for  ages,  till  the  last  day  beams  upon  the  world,  't  would 
still  recall  some  of  the  sweetest  memories  of  life.  But,  oh! 
how  changed  is  every  thing  here,  now.  The  verdant  bloom 
of  spring  has  given  place  to  the  sear  and  faded  leaf  of  au- 
tumn, that  slowly,  gently,  and  silently  falls  at  my  feet ;  so  pass 
away  the  generations  of  the  sons  of  men.  Oh !  where  are  all  the 

freen  trees  and  the  clustering  vines,  and  fragrant,  bright  hued 
owers — those  beautiful  beds  of  blue-bells,  violets,  cowslips  and 
water-lilies,  so  lately  springing  up  on  every  side,  filling  the  air 
with  their  perfume,  waving  gracefully  in  the  breeze,  and  bowing, 
as  if  in  mock  civility,  to  their  own  fair  images  reflected  in  the 
bright  waters  beneath  ?  They  are  gone — all  gone.  Even  the  pure 
limpid  stream  that  went  rippling  by  so  gaily,  and  laughing  in  the' 
sun,  seems  sorrowing  for  its  faded  beauties,  and  goes  moaning  by 


84  LIFE   AND   WKITINGS    OF 

as  if  in  grief- weeping  for  the  sunny  month  and  sky  of  May.  Sit- 
ting here  and  pondering  on  the  joys  of  that  bright  scene,  I  imagine 
I  can  almost  hear  the  sound  of  their  busy,  tramping  feet,  and  the 
familiar  tones  of  tkeir  merry  voices,  borne  upon  the  gentle  breeze, 
while  I  hold  my  breath  and  listen  close,  to  catch  the  whispering 
tones,  the  low  remark,  and  soft  reply. 

"  Here  we  spread  the  feast,  and  here  sat  two  youthful  forms, 
whose  young  hearts  had  just  awakened  to  the  first  soft  touch  of  loye ; 
and  here  upon  this  bright  spot,  so  thickly  carpeted  with  grass  and 
flowers,  we  danced  away  the  rosy  hours.  Methinks  I  can  see 
them  now — those  sylph-like  forms  gliding  gracefully  through  the 
mazes  of  the  dance.  Here  stood  my  dearest  friend,  besides  his 
lovely  partner,  while,  opposite,  I  stood  by  the  side  of  her  fair 
sister,  just  budding  into  womanhood,  though  still  retaining  all  the 
sweet  and  artless  grace  and  simplicity  of  the  child — which  like 
the  opening  bud,  is  sweeter  far  than  the  full  blown  rose.  Here, 
with  speaking  eyes,  glowing  cheeks  and  heaving  bosom,  I  first 
vainly  tried  to  tell  my  love. 

"  But,  why  dwell  upon  the  scenes  ?  'T  is  past,  and  never  more, 
perchance,  will  I  see  another  so  bright,  or  mingle  again  with  so 
many  of  the  early  friends  of  my  youth.  But  a  few  short  months 
have  passed  away  since  then,  and  they  all  are  gone,  while  I  sit 
here  in  sadness  and  alone,  and  the  unavailing  tears  steel  down  my 
cheeks,  all  unheeded,  and  the  wailing  wind  bears  away  each  heav- 
ing sigh  of  grief.  Ah !  where  are  all  of  the  fair  forms  and  warm 
hearts  and  angel  faces,  that  hallowed  this  spot,  that  day?  They 
have  all  long  since  dispersed  to  their  homes  and  avocations. 
Many  a  long  and  weary  mile  intervenes  now,  between  hearts  so 
closely  united  there  in  the  bonds  of  friendship  and  love.  Some 
have  sought  the  busy  haunts  of  the  crowded  metropolis — some  are 
at  the  bar — some  in  the  pulpit,  and  some,  perchance,  have  sought, 
(as  I  am  about  to  do)  the  distant  West  to  build  up  a  home  in  its 
wilds.  This  spot  is  sacred  to  me.  It  is  hallowed  by  a  thousand 
sweet  associations  of  the  past.  Here  I  have  wiled  away  many  an 
hour  in  sweet  converse  and  social  intercourse  with  those  I  love. 
But  alas  !  in  a  little  while — a  few  hours  at  most — I  must  leave  my 
boyhood's  home  and  all  these  scenes  so  clear,  to  see  them  again, 
perchance,  no  more  forever.  May  we  all  meet  again,  a  happier 
company,  midst  brighter  scenes,  in  a  better  world  than  this  ;  and 
now,  while  pure  thoughts  and  holy  feelings  come  over  me,  let  me 
kneel  with  full  heart  and  streaming  eyes,  to  pour  out  my  soul  in 
prayer." 
****** 

An  hour  later,  I  stood  upon  the  thronged  wharf  where  hundreds 
were  assembled  to  see  the  mighty  vessel  cut  her  way  through  the 
trackless  water.  On  she  came  like  a  thing  of  evil,  belching  forth 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONROE.  85 

fire  and  sinoke,  leaving  a  glittering  sheet  of  foam  in  her  wake,  and 
rounding-to  with  a  shrill  scream  that  would  seem  startle  the  spirit 
of  the  dead.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  I  observed  a  group  gathered 
around  the  same  youth,  whose  meditations  I  had  overheard  ; 
scores  of  old  acquaintances  and  friends  and  youthful  associates, 
were  pressing  eagerly  forward  to  bid  him  farewell — while  one,  a 
tall  graceful  looking  girl,  apart  from  the  rest,  stood  timidly  back, 
with  clenched  hands,  pale  face  and  tearful  eyes,  gazing  fondly 
upon  him.  Hastily  bidding  them  all  farewell,  and  brushing  the 
tears  from  his  eyes,  he  wrung  his  mother's  hand,  kissed  her  pale 
cheek,  dashed  down  the  steep  bank  and  sprang  aboard.  Then, 
stationing  himself  upon  the  hurricane  deck,  he  took  a  last  fond 
look  upon  all  his  heart  held  dear — his  boyhood  home.  With 
another  shrill  yell,  warning  all  to  get  aboard,  she  glided  swiftly 
away,  and  was  soon  lost  to  view  behind  a  neighboring  bend; 
bearing  him  on  to  his  new  home  in  the  "far  West,"  where  we 
may,  perchance,  some  time  follow  him  in  his  future  career.  As 
the  vessel  passed  out  of  sight,  many  a  white  handkerchief  was 
waved  from  the  shore,  to  that  lone  form,  with  many  a  heartfelt; 
wish  of  kindness  and  sympathy ;  but  the  mother's  eyes  were  raised 
to  Heaven,  and  her  lips  moved  as  if  in  prayer ;  her  eyes  were 
tearless,  but  a  deep  and  settled  agony  was  stamped  upon  her  pale 
and  care-worn  features.  Slowly,  with  bent  form  and  tottering 
steps,  and  lingering  looks,  she  turned  to  seek  what  now  must 
seem  the  deserted  walks  of  home. 


THOUGHTS    OF   DEATH. 

"  To  think  of  summers  yet  to  come, 

That  I  am  not  to  see  ; 
To  think  of  flowers  yet  to  bloom 

From  dust  that  I  shall  he." 

The  above  beautiful  lines  will  express  the  feelings  in  which  we 
all,  more  or  less,  indulge  when  contemplating  our  final  end. 
Death — the  common  lot  of  all ;  none,  great  or  small,  high  or 
low,  rich  or  poor,  but  must  sooner  or  later  bow  alike  to  thy  dread 
scepter.  Oh!  Death!  truly  "in  the  midst  of  life,  we  are  in 
death."  Every  breath  brings  us  but  nearer  to  the  tomb,  and 
proves,  at  the  same  time,  the  funeral  knell  of  some  departing 
spirit.  After  the  few  brief  days  of  our  short  lives  have  passed 
away  in  turmoil  and  in  strife,  we  turn  away,  sick  at  heart,  to  go 
and  dwell  in  the  silent  city  of  death,  and  there  find,  beneath  the 
sod,  the  rest  we  can  not  find  on  earth.  Quietly  do  the  eternal 
sleepers  rest  on  their  sepulchral  couches.  There  is  no  strife,  no 
vain  distinctions  there.  The  prince  and  peasant,  master  and 


86  LIFE   AND    WRITINGS    OF 

slave,  lie  moldering  together — generation  after  generaton  is 
brought  and  laid  by  their  side— the  vain  and  pompous  inscription 
on  their  monumental  marble,  tells  of  the  centuries  that  have 
passed  away ;  but  the  dead  observe  it  not ;  all  is  unheard  and 
unseen  by  them  ;  the  busy  world  of  life  goes  on  above  them,  but 
they  hear  it  not ;  the  sound  of  joy,  or  the  sigh  of  grief,  the  voice 
of  song,  or  the  wail  of  despair,  breaks  not  the  solemn  stillness 
which  reigns  in  the  silent  city.  The  deep-toned  bay  of  the  watch- 
dog, the  cannon's  awful  roar,  or  the  thunder's  rolling  might, 

"  No  more  disturbs  the  deep  repose, 
Than  summer  evening's  latest  sigh 
"That  shuts  the  rose." 

Even  now,  while  writing,  the  solemn-  knell  of  the  tolling  bell 
strikes  mournfully  upon  my  ear,  and  she,  who  was  but  yesterday 
the  light  and  joy  of  the  social  circle  in  which  she  moved,  and  the 
home  she  made  so  blest  and  happy,  is  borne  to  her  last  resting- 
place. 

Oh !  in  youth,  when  the  heart  beats  high  with  hope  and  we  are 
looking  forward  to  the  future  with  bright  anticipations  of  joy  and 
happiness,  how  unwelcome  comes  thy  summons,  oh,  Death !  yet 
't  is  ever  thus.  The  loveliest  of  our  race  the  soonest  pass  away, 
and  life  seems  but  a  waking  dream — like  the  morning  mist  or  the 
early  dew,  they  pass  from  earth  to  Heaven. 

In  middle  age,  't  is  yet  the  same.  The  spoiler  comes  and  finds 
us,  perchance,  surrounded  by  a  blooming  family,  in  all  the  enjoy- 
ments of  mutual  love,  and  the  endearments  of  connubial  bliss, 
and  whether  he  strikes  ourself,  the  wife  of  our  bosom  or  the  cherub 
at  her  breast,  the  stroke  is  equally  severe. 

Even  old  age,  dark  and  unlovely  as  it  is,  shrinks  from  death 
and  would  gladly  stay  yet  a  little  while  longer.  "We  all  dread  to 
die — we  all  cling  to  life  and  shudder  to  think  of  thee,  insatiate 
Grave !  But  oh  !  how  dark  and  drear  must  be  the  gloom  that 
overspreads  the  lost  and  hopeless  sinner's  soul,  when  death  has 
summoned  him  hence  and  is  about  to  depart  on  that  long  journey, 
to  try  the  realities  of  the  unknown  future,  to  meet  the  Great  Judge, 
face  to  face !  All  has  failed  him  now.  All  that  he  has  set  his 
heart  upon  and  clung  to  through  life — alas  !  what  are  they  now  ? 
"What  can  wealth,  and  rank,  and  power,  avail  him  ?  He  sees,  he 
he  feels,  that  all  is  vanity.  Oh  !  what  would  he  not  give  to  live 
his  short  life  over  again  2  How  differently  would  he  live  it  ?  The 
earth,  the  beautiful  earth,  with  all  its  joys,  all  its  blessings,  is  fast 
fading  from  his  view.  What  arc  all  his  idols  now?  '  He- must  die 
and  leave  them.  And  oh  !  worse  than  all,  he  feels  that  he  must 
stand  condemned  before  the  judgment-seat  of  an  offended  'God ! 
Oh  !  how  he  longs  for  one  of  his  many  misspent  hours,  in  which  he 


ADOLPIIUS   F.    MONROE.  87 

might  repent — in  which  he  might  make  a  covenant  of  peace  with 
Heaven ! 

How  differently  does  the  Christian  die  ?  How  calm  his  look, 
how  sweet  his  smile,  while  his  spirit  is  passing  away.  To  him 
the  grave  hath  no  terrors,  death  no  sting  ;  he  knows  that  his  Re- 
deemer liveth,  and  that  He  will  accompany  him  through  the  dark 
valley  and  shadow  of  death ;  that  He  will  go  with  him  into  the 
narrow  bounds  of  the  cold  and  dreary  tomb,  to  bring  him  forth 
again  and  clothe  him  in  the  bright  and  glorious  robes  of  blissful 
immortality,  and  place  upon  his  brow  the  crown  of  eternal  life. 
How  exultingly  can  the  dying  Christian  sing,  as  he  faces  the  dread 
"King  of  Terrors," 

"  Oh,  Grave !  where  is  thy  victory ! 
Oh,  Death  !  where  is  thy  sting  ?" 

He  knows  that  his  body  must  die  and  be  laid  in  the  cold  and 
silent  tomb,  to  become  food  for  worms ;  but  he  feels  that  his  soul  is 
immortal  and  can  never  die ;  and 't  is  he  alone,  who  can  truly  say, 
"  I  do  not  fear  to  die." 

As  we,  when  weary  with  the  toils  and  labors  of  the  day,  seek 
our  chambers  for  repose,  so  will  the  Christian,  when  done  with  the 
sufferings  of  this  world,  welcome  thee,  oh,  Death !  and  seek  repose 
in  thy  last,  long  sleep.  He  will  calmly  fall  into  the  Redeemer's 
arms,  knowing  that,  in  the  morning  of  the  resurrection,  he  will 
awake  in  His  likeness. 

Oh !  who  can  doubt  the  immortality  of  the  soul  ?  "Who  after 
once  raising  his  eyes  aloft  and  contemplating  the  movements  of 
those  celestial  worlds,  can  for  an  instant  believe  that  man  after  a 
few  short  years  of  trial  and  trouble,  shall  be  swept  away,  even  as 
the  brute  creation,  without  one  solitary  trace  remaining,  as  to  who 
and  what  he  was  ?  Mind  and  matter  differ  widely  in  their  elements, 
and  man  is  the  only  animal  endowed  with  mind.  Even  in  sleep 
(that  emblem  of  death),  it  is  never  at  rest — but  ever  active.  Of 
matter  we  can  not  destroy  one  particle,  though  we  see  it  changing 
its  form  every  day  without  surprise.  Look  at  the  silk-worm  un- 
dergoing change  after  change,  and  passing  from  one  stage  of 
existence  to  another,  until,  at  last,  we  see  it  a  dark  brown  grub, 
apparently  without- life  or  motion ;  but  lo  !  in  a  few  days  we  behold 
coming  forth  from  that  loathsome  object,  a  beautiful  and  bright- 
winged  butterfly.  See  it  spread  its  wing  of  azure  and  gold,  soar- 
ing gracefully  away  upon  the  summer  breeze ;  roving  from  flower 
to  flower  and  basking  in  the  warm  sun  light. 

Oh !  if  God,  from  that  dull  worm,  can  bring  forth  a  thing  so 
beautiful,  'what  shall  the  Christian  be  when  he  shall  have  burst  the 
bars  of  death,  arisen  triumphant  from  the  grave,  with  form  divine, 
and  put  on  celestial  livery,'to  fly  away  on  angel's  wings  to  the  bright 


88  LIFE   AND    WRITINGS    OF 

and  gorgeous  courts  of  Heaven?  How  shall  the  Christian  appear 
when  arrayed  in  those  shining  robes,  washed  white  in  the  blood 
of  the  Lamb,  and  mingle  with  that  innumerable  host  congregated 
round  the  Throne  of  God  ?  I  sometimes  feel  as  if  I  were  tired  of 
staying  in  this  prison-house  of  clay,  and  long  for  angel-wings  to 
"  flee  away  and  be  at  rest." 

Oh !  who  would  not  be  a  Christian ;  who  would  not  have  the 
blessed  hope  and  promise  of  life  immortal  beyond  the  tomb,  eter- 
nal in  the  Heavens  ? 


THE  MAY  PARTY. 

ON  the  first  of  May,  1851,  the  sun  rose  clear  and  bright ;  the 
sky  was  cloudless  and  every  thing  giving  promise  of  a  beautiful 
day,  the  young  people  of  Falinouth  indulged  the  brightest  anticipa- 
tions of  a  merry  May  day.  But,  alas  !  like  many  of  the  fondest 
hopes  of  youth,  they  were  doomed  to  disappointment.  The  sky, 
hitherto  so  clear  and  bright,  became  suddenly  overcast  with  black 
and  heavy  clouds,  from  whose  dark  bosoms  came  muttered  thun- 
der tones.  A  storm  arose.  Doubt,  anxiety  and  gloom  were  now 
seen  in  the  countenances  lately  so  bright  and  joyous.  The  clouds 
soon  passed  away  from  the  blue  and  laughing  sky,  but  a  heavy 
wind  sprung  up  and  increased  in  fury,  until  the  stoutest  trees, 
groaned  and  creaked  and  bowed  their  stately  heads  before  the  blast. 
So,  by  general  consent,  it  was  agreed  to  call  the  day  31st  of  April, 
and  postpone  the  party  till  the  morrow. 

The  ensuing  morning  was  soft  and  balmy,  and  richly  perfumed 
with  the  sweet  odors  of  spring.  The  company,  consisting  of 
about  twenty  couple,  were  soon  wending  their  way  to  the  lovely 
little  island,  adjacent  to  the  village,  where  all  our  parties  of  this 
kind  were  usually  held.  They  soon  arrived  and  gave  themselves 
up  to  unrestrained  mirth  and  glee. 

It  was  a  bright  and  lovely  scene,  and  is  engraven  upon  my 
heart  with  the  magic  pencil  of  memory  too  deep  to  fade  while  life 
shall  last.  Soon  they  broke  up  into  groups — some  feasting,  some 
promenading,  some  romping  and  dancing  and  some  sitting  apart, 
were  conversing  in  soft  low  strains.  Conspicuous  among  the 
"  love  sick,"  was  a  long,  lean  doctor  from  Ohio,  sitting  close  to 
and  making  himself  particularly  agreeable  to  his  fair  Dulcinia. 
They  seem  to  be  utterly  unconscious  that  there  were  any  other 
persons  present  and  did  nought  but  sigh  and  gaze  into  each  other's 
eyes.  As  for  myself,  like  the  bee,  I  roved  from  flower  to  flower, 
sipping  sweets  from  all,  and  romping  and  chatting  with  every  one 
till  the  rosy  hours  flew  away  with  the  day,  and  evening  came  on. 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONROE.  89 

I  then  fell  into  a  fit  of  musing.  The  thought  that  the  day,  bright 
and  beautiful  as  it  had  been,  must  soon  close,  and  that  all  the 
light  and  happy  hearts  of  that  gay  company  must  soon  be  sepa- 
rated, made  my  soul  sad.  While  musing  thus,  sweet  visions  of 
the  past  came  thronging  quick  upon  me,  but  conspicuously  shone 
the  well-remembered  scene  that  took  place  here  one  short  year  ago. 
Here,  upon  this  spot,  were  there  assembled  most  of  the  company 
now  present. 

Some  that  were  here  then,  are  missing  now.  She  who  was 
then  the  fairest  of  the  fair  and  the  gayest  of  the  gay,  is  not  here 
now.  I  miss  that  lovely  form  and  angel  face,  and  vainly  listen  to 
catch  the  sound  of  her  sweet  voice.  Ah  !  never  more  its  musical 
tones  thrill  the  hearts  of  her  mourning  friends.  She  is  gone — her 
voice  is  hushed  in  death.  The  places  that  knew  her  once  and 
grew  bright  with  her  presence  will  know  her  no  more  forever.  She 
is  now  an  angel  in  Heaven.  She  is  gone.  Her  short  life  has  fled 
as  some  sweet  dream,  but  her  memory,  like  the  music  heard  in 
other  days,  will  long  haunt  and  linger  about  the  hearts  of  her 
friends.  Her  mourning  sister — I  miss  her,  too — like  a  drooping 
lily,  is  pining  in  sorrow  at  home. 

From  these  sad  reflections  I  roused  myself,  and  sought  the  side 
of  a  fair  but  somewhat  pensive  nymph  (whose  eye  grew  brighter 
at  my  approach),  and  was  soon  deeply  engrossed  in  reading,  as  in 
a  book ;  every  thought  and  feeling  in  it  found  utterance  of  her 
fresh  and  guileless  heart.  Here  I  sat  until  the  company  were  pre- 
paring to  go ;  we  then  reluctantly  rose  to  leave.  She  told  me  she 
was  going  away  from  home,  and  would  be  absent  for  months,  and 
that  ere  she  departed,  I  must  come  and  see  her.  Of  course,  I  pro- 
mised to  do  so.  Taking  her  hand,  I  tenderly  bade  her  farewell, 
promising  to  write  her  and  entreating  her  not  to  forget  me.  Her 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  which  I  kissed  away,  endeavoring  to  soothe 
and  comfort  her.  Looking  up  into  my  face  with  a  languishing 
glance  of  love  and  desire,  she  pressed  upon  my  finger  a  plain  gold 
ring,  with  a  wish  and  a  sigh,  a  smile  and  a  tear,  and  ere  we  parted, 
we  had  again  and  again  exchanged  vows  of  eternal  love  and  con- 
stancy ;  vows  to  be  forgotten  in  an  hour,  or  only  to  be  remem- 
bered with  a  smile. 


THE  VOYAGE  OF  LIFE. 

AN   ALLEGORY. 

Tins  was  one  of  the  scenes  of  my  ever  changeful  dreams.  In  a 
fairy-like  boat,  so  light  was  its  construction,  I  floated  swiftly  but 
smoothly  down  a  silvery  stream.  How  I  got  there,  I  know  not,  as 


90  LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF 

there  are  no  way-stations  in  the  railway  land  of  dreams.  I  only 
know,  that  it  was  the  fairest  scene  I  ever  beheld.  On  either  side 
were  green  banks  and  far-stretching  fields,  whose  verdure  was 
interspersed  and  dotted  with  white  cottages  and  shady  groves ; 
while  here  and  there,  creeping  like  silver  serpents,  little  rivulets 
sparkled  and  glanced  brightly  in  the  sunlight.  The  bank,  on  either 
side,  was  strewn  with  sweet,  gaudy  and  fragrant  flowers,  which 
ever  and  anon,  I  tried  to  pluck. 

Methought  my  frail  bark  was  oarless,  so  that  I  had  no  power  to 
check  or  guide  its  course.  But  little  recked  I  of  that.  As  I 
glided  down  the  stream,  and  onward,  and  still  onward,  I  cast  a 
delighted  eye  on  all  around  me.  The  banks  were  carpeted  with 
flowers,  while  the  sweet  melody  of  innumerable  birds  and  bees 
greeted  my  ravished  senses,  as  it  poured  in  one  continuous  music- 
stream  from  the  green  woods.  I  uttered  an  involuntary  exclama-' 
tion  of  delight,  which  was  quickly  changed  to  one  of  affright,  when 
I  discovered  the  form  of  a  decrepid  old  man  rise  up  in  the  far  end 
of  my  boat.  In  faltering  accents  I  demanded  of  him  who  and 
what  he  was. 

"If  you  were  wise,"  said  he,  "you  would  already  have  known 
me." 

His  tones  were  so  harsh  and  discordant,  that  I  shuddered  in 
every  nerve.  At  length,  I  ventured  to  ask  him  how  he  came 
there,  and  requested  him  to  leave  my  boat,  as  his  presence  was 
disagreeable  to  me.  As  to  leaving  the  boat,  he  refused,  saying : 

"  Even  were  I  so  disposed,  I  could  not  do  it,  for  the  river  of  life 
admits  of  no  stopping.  When  once  you  have  embarked  upon  its 
waters,  you  must  sail  to  your  destined  port  and  tarry  not." 

"But,"  said  I,  "this  boat  is  not  yours,  and  I  wish  not  your 
company." 

"  True,  sir,"  replied  my  strange  companion ;  "  the  boat  is  not  mine ; 
yet  am  I  the  one  appointed  by  faith  to  pilot  all  who  voyage  to  the 
ocean  of  eternity.  When  once  you  reach  the  shore  unseen  by  mor- 
tal eye,  then,  and  then  only,  can  I  leave  you  to  return  and  pilot 
others,  as  I  do  you.  Such  is  my  duty  and  such  has  been  my  con- 
stant labor  since  the  beautiful  earth  first  sprang  from  chaos ;  and 
such  will  be  my  task  until  time  shall  be  no  more." 

I  now  gave  myself  up  in  despair  and  gazed  in  silence  upon 
the  beautiful  scene  around  me.  At  length,  rendered  desperate,  I 
turned  to  the  grim  old  pilot,  and  ultimately  threatened  and  expos- 
tulated and  exhorted  him  to  hasten  on  to  the  end  of  the  dismal 
journey.  He  coldly  bade  me  be  quiet. 

"Foolish  boy,"  said  he,  "if  I  could  comply  with  your  threats, 
your  prayers  and  your  expostulations,  and  put  leagues  that  are 
now  far  ahead,  in  our  rear,  you  would  but  be  the  nearer  to  yon  dis- 
mal port,"  pointing  with  his  long  and  bony  finger  to  a  frightful 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONROE.  91 

gulf  roaring  in  the  dim  distance  and  whose  solemn  sound  now  for 
the  first  time  reached  my  ears.  In  fear  and  trembling,  I  drew  closer 
to  the  strange  old  man. 

"And  must  my  boat  enter  that  dismal  gulf?"  I  cried. 

"That  whirling  vortex,  is  death,"  was  the  answer. 

Then  I  prayed  him  to  stop,  but  he  laughed  at  my  entreaties. 

"  Be  wise,  foolish  mortal,"  said  he,  "  and  treasure  up  my  words  ; 
improve  your  opportunity,  and  I  will  be  your  friend.  Look  again 
on  that  sea  of  death.  To  the  left,  see  that  black  and  yawning 
gulf,  and  listen  to  the  hideous  groans  and  screams  that  issue  from 
its  awful  depth ; — that  is  the  gulf  of  the  damned,  and  there,  shall 
surely  perish  all  who  fail  to  make  me  their  friend.  Now  cast 
your  eyes  to  the  right.  See  that  calm  and  placid  lake,  teeming 
with  bright  and  beautiful  islands,  from  which  comes  such  heavenly 
melody — such  sweet  songs  of  praise — that,  is  called  the  haven  of 
rest — the  harbor  of  the  ransomed.  Be  wise,  listen  to  me,  and  I 
will  pilot  thee  there." 

I  seized  his  hand,  and  with  tearful  eyes  and  quivering  lips, 
thanked  him  for  his  good  counsel,  and  vowed  to  him  eternal  devo- 
tion. He  smiled  and  laid  his  hand  upon  my  head  so  gently,  that, 
as  I  looked  up  into  his  hitherto  repulsive  face,  I  thought  he  had 
more  than  earthly  beauty. 

"Wondrous  man,"  I  exclaimed,  "tell  me  who  and  what  thou 
art." 

"  I  am  one  feared  and  hated  by  all  mankind ;  represented  as 
a  fell  destroyer,  wielding  a  scythe  and  mowing  down  the  race  oi 
men.  My  name  is  TIME.  But  I  am  the  friend  of  man,  and  yet, 
he  will  not  know  it.  I  soothe  his  sorrows  and  mitigate  his  sever- 
est vows.  If  thou  wilt,  I  will  be  thy  friend  also.  I  am  the  friend 
of  all  who  are  good  and  wise." 

"Then,"  said  I,  "be  the  friend,  also,  of  my  mother  and  my 
sister." 

"Thy  mother,"  he  replied,  "has  long  known  me.  We  are  al- 
ready friends.  Thy  sister,  too,  shall  know  me  better,  soon.  Look," 
and  gazing  in  the  direction  he  pointed  out,  I  beheld  my  sister  in 
another  tiny  bark,  gliding  down  the  rapid-rolling  river,  and  gayly 
plucking  the  flowers  that  laved  their  blushing  cheeks  in  the  silver 
stream.  Her  merry  laugh  was  echoing  musically  from  shore  to 
shore,  and,  in  her  happiness,  she  seemed  unconscious  of  the  presence 
of  her  grim  old  pilot,  Time.  Near  her  was  a  childish  form,  play- 
ing carelessly  with  the  rippling  waves. 

"  Now  look  again" — I  looked,  and  far  down  the  fast  widening 
stream,  beheld  gliding  tranquilly  along,  the  boat  bearing  my 
mother.  Methought,  ever  and  anon,  she  would  gaze  through  the 
dim  distance  till  her  eyes  would  rest  upon  our  tiny  bark,  beckon- 
ing us  on,  with  smiles  and  tears,  to  join  her;  and  then  she  would 
6 


92  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF 

turn  again  and  gaze  far  down  the  stream,  through  clouds  of  mist, 
upon  the  vast  expanse  of  the  future. 

Memory  ran  back  through  all  the  days  of  my  childhood,  dwelling 
here  and  there,  upon  some  act  of  disobedience  to  thee,  oh !  my 
mother;  and  I  silently  vowed,  for  thy  sake,  to  sin  no  more 
k'  against  heaven  and  in  thy  sight,"  but  to  make  friends  with  the 
old  man,  Time,  and  sail  to  that  "  haven  of  rest,"  to  join  thee  there, 
forever. 

My  dream  was  ended. 


MY  MOTHER. 

I  love  my  neighbor,  love  my  friend, 

And  my  Masonic  brother ; 
I  love  all  who  will  right  defend, 

But  more,  I  love  my  Mother. 

I  love  my  fair  fame  far  before 
All  things  on  earth  together ; 

I  love  my  own  just  right,  but  more 
Than  life,  I  love  my  Mother. 

I  have  a  sister  good  and  kind — 
With  life  I  would  defend  her, 

But  love  my  mother  more  refined, 
And  still  more  strong  and  tender. 

I  have  a  little  orphan  niece, 

I  love  her  like  a  father  ; 
But,  oh !  I  will,  till  life  shall  cease, 

Still  love  thee  best,  my  Mother. 

I  know  a  little  maiden  fair, 

Of  fairy  form  and  feature  ; 
Of  guileless  heart  and  beauty  rare — 

I  love  the  little  creature. 

She  'a  gentle,  good  and  true,  I  know, 
I  lov'd  when  first  I  met  her ; 

I  love  her  passing  well — but,  oh ! 
I  love  my  Mother  better. 

Whene'er  I  wander  far  and  wide, 

From  one  land  to  another, 
Then,  more  than  all  the  world  beside, 

I  think  of  thee,  my  Mother. 

When  towards  home  in  haste  I  hie, 

I  know  there  is  no  other 
That  will  so  patient  watch  and  fly 

To  meet  me,  as  my  Mother. 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONROE.  93 

When  happy-hearted,  light  and  free, 

There  's  not  on  earth  another 
That  can  so  sympathize,  or  see 

The  good  that  'a  in  me,  Mother. 

When  sorrow  clouds  my  brow  with  care, 

And  all  the  world  together, 
Look  coldly  on,  oh !  who  shall  dare 

To  love  me  as  my  Mother  ? 

And  when  in  danger,  doubt  and  dread, 

And  troubles  darkly  gather, 
Whose  heart  has  e'er  so  quickly  bled 

For  me,  as  thine,  my  Mother  ? 

And  when  the  world's  cold  selfishness, 

My  best  afflictions  smother, 
I  come  to  thee,  in  my  distress, 

To  counsel  me,  my  Mother. 

Oh  !  Mother,  oft  I  've  made  thee  feel 

Full  many  a  pang  distressing, 
But  thou  didst  quick  forgive  and  kneel 

To  ask  for  me  a  blessing. 

I  was  a  wild  and  wayward  child, 

And  oft  was  found  transgressing, 
But,  Mother,  thou  wast  ever  mild, 

And  gentle  and  caressing. 

Oh !  Mother,  thou  wast  early  left 

A  widow,  poor  and  lonely, 
With  none  to  help,  though  sore  bereft, 

With  God  to  look  to,  only. 

And  those  who  should  have  been  thy  stay, 

Would  no  assistance  render, 
But  planned  how  they  might  take  away 

Thy  means,  though  they  were  slender. 

* 
Thou  couldst  have  had,  at  thy  command, 

Those  friends  of  widowed  mothers, 
That  great,  and  good,  and  glorious  band, 

My  father's  Mason  brothers. 

But  thy  proud  heart  could  never  ask 

From  all  the  world  a  penny, 
But,  bravely  took  thee  to  thy  task, 

Depending  not  on  any. 

For  twenty  years,  since  Father  's  gone, 

Of  suffering  and  of  sorrow, 
Thou  bravely  toiled,  still  hoping  on 

For  better  things  to-morrow. 


LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF 

With  aching  heart,  and  failing  sight, 
And  fingers  sore  and  bleeding, 

Thou  hast  toiled  on,  both  day  and  night, 
Thy  orphan  children  feeding. 

But,  Mother,  God  has  heard  thy  prayer, 

To  thee  a  son  He  's  given, 
Who  '11  nourish  thee  with  tender  care, 

'Till  thou  'It  go  home  to  Heaven. 

And,  Mother,  now  I  've  grown  to  be 
A  man,  both  strong  and  willing, 

I  '11  work  for  thee,  and  comfort  thee, 
While  I  can  earn  a  shilling. 

Ah  !  Mother,  thou  art  growing  old, 
Thy  feeble  frame  's  fast  failing, 

Thy  hands  are  thin,  thy  limbs  are  cold, 
And  thou  art  ever  ailing. 

Thine  eyes  are  dim,  thy  hair  is  gray, 
And  death  is  o'er  thee  creeping ; 

But  when  thou  'rt  gone,  I  '11  come  and  lay 
Me  down  where  thou  art  sleeping. 

Oh !  Mother,  soon  thou  'It  go  from  me^- 
Would  we  could  go  together  ! 

But,  though  we  part,  I  '11  come  to  thee 
Again,  in  heaven,  Mother. 

Say,  Mother,  who  shall  then  advise 
Thy  son,  with  truth  and  feeling ; 

Still,  thou  wilt  whisper  from  the  skies, 
"  Be  faithful,  and  believing." 

Dear  Mother,  when  we  meet  up  there, 
Say,  shall  we  know  each  other  ? 

Ah !  yes,  my  joy  you  first  will  share, 
You  '11  first  receive  me,  Mother ! 

Oh  !  there  I  will  my  Father  meet, 

My  Sister,  and  my  Brother  ; 
Then,  Mother,  there,  in  union  sweet, 

We  '11  all  praise  God  together ! 


"I'M  WEARY  Of   THIS   LIFE." 

I'M  weary,  weary  of-this  life — of  all  this  senseless  round, 
Of  this  vain  search  for  happiness,  for  pleasures  never  found ; 
Of  silly  pride  of  place  and  power,  and  this  cold  world's  mistrust, 
This  groveling  strife  for  worldly  wealth  and  things  of  earthly  lust. 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONROE.  96 

I  'm  weary  of  this  dull  routine — this  daily  round  of  care, 

Of  this  vain  toil,  this  petty  strife,  for  gold  and  silver  ware  ; 

Of  hollow  hearts,  and  shallow  brains,  and  would-be  Christians,  too, 

Of  reverend  hypocrites,  and  all  the  sanctimonious  crew. 

I  'm  weary  of  all  human  joys,— of  human  hopes  and  fears ; 
Of  every  source  of  happiness,  of  the  ebb  and  flow  of  years ; 
Of  all  this  yearning  soul's  unrest,  this  "  prison-house  of  clay," 
This  crumbling  frame  of  earth  and  air,  its  slow  but  sure  decay. 

But  soon  this  heart  shall  cease  to  beat,  this  fount  of  tears  be  dry, 
And  this  immortal  soul  shall  test  its  aspirations  high  ; 
My  yearning  spirit  then  may  find,  freed  from  this  aching  breast, 
Its  destined  paradise  of  love,  its  happy  home  of  rest. 

Then  with  some  kindred  spirit  sweet,  I  '11  roam  in  bowers  above^ 
Where  all  is  joy,  unending  bliss,  and  sympathy  and  love  ; 
Where  days  and  years,  and  hopes  and  fears,  no  more  shall  ever  be, 
But  youth  shall  last,  and  know  no  past,  through  all  eternity. 


LITTLE  THINGS. 

How  few  observe,  or  even  dream, 

What  little  things  may  bring  about ; 
We  seldom  are  just  what  we  seem, 

And  few  know  how  to  draw  us  out. 
In  us,  each  day,  great  change  is  wrought, 

We  never  are  two  days  the  same  ; 
Each  day  brings  some  new  scheme,  or  thought, 

To  change  our  object,  end,  and  aim. 

I  was  once,  in  heart,  a  very  child, 

But  manhood's  cares  oppress  me  now  ; 
Maturer  years  have  made  me  mild, 

And  left  their  record  on  my  brow. 
'T  was  little  things  that. changed  my  heart, 

And  made  me  cold,  and  stern,  and  calm ; 
And  little  things  but  gave  the  start 

To  all  that 's  made  me  what  I  am. 

I  know  men's  minds,  amd  seldom  fail 

To  ken  them  like  an  open  scroll ; 
I  listen  to  each  flattering  tale, 

But  read  aright  the  secret  soul. 
And  gentler  woman's  softer  heart, 

I  read  it  in  her  soul-bright  eye  ; 
The  conscious  blush — the  sudden  start, 

Betrays  the  most  reserved  and  shy. 

Of  smallest  parts  our  life  's  made  up, 
And  parts  but  form  a  perfect  whole  ; 

Of  little  drops,  the  bitterest  cup 
Is  filled,  that  stirs  the  human  soul. 


And  love,  with  winning  ways  and  wiles, 
The  saddest  human  heart  can  bless ; 

And  gentle  words,  and  kindly  smiles, 
Make  up  the  sum  of  happiness. 

I  sometimes  gay  and  cheerful  seem, 

And  smile  as  once  I  smiled  of  yore ; 
Ere  childish  joys,  and  boyhood's  dreams, 

Had  fled,  alas  !  forevermore. 
When  nature  weeps,  the  bow  is  born, 

Of  hope  and  promise  in  the  skies, 
So  a  mother's  care,  in  youth's  bright  morn, 

Taught  faith  and  hope,  that  never  dies. 

Soft,  murmuring  streams,  among  the  hills, 

That,  sparkling,  leap  the  pebbles  o'er  ; 
And  tiny  rills,  the  ocean  fills, 

And  swells  Niagara's  awful  roar. 
From  little  things  the  comet  springs, 

To  burn  and  blaze  through  endless  years  ; 
His  song  at  eve  the  emmet  sings, 

To  swell  the  music  of  the  spheres. 


TO  MY  CIGAE. 

I  LOVE  to  sit  for  hours  alone, 

And  muse  o'er  my  cigar, 
Of  happy  hours  I  once  have  known 

With  early  friends  afar  ; 
Of  childhood's  scenes,  and  youth's  sweet  dreams, 

That  still  my  heart  holds  dear, 
Till  the  present,  past,  and  future  seems 

To  blend  in  one  soft  tear.     #  $ 

I  love  the  "  weed,"  the  grateful  "  weed," 

It  soothes  my  troubled  mind  ; 
'Tis  an  ever  ready  "  friend  in  need," 

A  friend  both  true  and  kind. 
Its  fragrance  sweet,  when  sad,  I  sip 

To  "  drown  dull  care"  awhile  ; 
'Tis  sweeter  far  than  woman's  lip, 

More  constant  than  her  smile. 

I  love  to  watch  the  circling  rings, 

As  round  they  wheel  and  play ; 
Bright  images,  like  angels'  wings, 

Float  gracefully  away ; 
Unnumbered  forms  of  air  and  light, 

I  see  with  half  closed  eyes  ; 
And  strange,  fantastic  figures  bright, 

Like  mimic  rainbows  rise. 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONROE.  97 

Each  fragrant  puff  my  spirit  warms, 

And  elevates  my  muse  ; 
Each  gentle  breath  and  taste  hath  charms 

To  chase  away  the  "  blues." 
Let  learned  doctors  rail  and  rant, 

Their  bills  (pills)  are  under  par, 
While  I  've  the  "  tin,"  despite  their  "  cant," 

I  '11  smoke  a  good  cigar. 


SOME  THINGS  I  LOVE. 

I  LOVE  a  man  with  an  independent  soul, 

Who  reasons,  thinks,  and  proudly  spurns  control ; 

With  a  proud,  high  heart — that  brooks  no  wrong, 

No  insult,  from  the  overbearing  strong ; 

But  will,  if  rightly  asked,  forgive  the  wrong, 

Try  to  forget,  and  strive  to  get  along. 

I  love  a  woman,  with  a  woman's  heart, 
Unsullied  by  the  base,  deceitful  art 
Of  coquette,  or  of  flirt,  but  true  and  kind, 
For  such  is  woman's  nature,  when  refined. 

I  love  a  maid,  with  maiden  modesty, 
And  artless  grace,  and  sweet  simplicity  ; 
Those  pure  and  guileless  hearts,  an  open  scroll 
Of  love,  and  truth,  and  constancy  of  soul. 

I  love  a  friend  with  an  open  heart  and  hand, 
With  an  open  eye,  and  speech  of  fair  demand ; 
That 's  ever  ready,  quick,  and  bold  of  heart, 
When  I  'm  not  by,  to  bravely  take  my  part ; 
That  loves  me  for  myself,  and  not  for  gold ; 
Who  would  be  true,  though  all  the  world  were  cold  ; 
True  to  his  friend,  true  to  his  own  true  love, 
True  to  himself,  and  true  to  God  above. 


LINES 

TO   A  T.OUNG   LADY  ON   THE   DEATH   OF    HEB   SI8TEB. 

SCARCE  eighteen  summers  yet  had  flown 

Away  in  joy  and  mirth, 
Scarce  eighteen  winters  yet  had  blown 

The  roses  from  the  earth  ; 
When  thy  sweet  sister,  like  a  rose, 

Fell  blasted  in  full  bloom, 
Her  weary  spirit  sought  repose, 

And  found  it  in  the  tomb. 


98  LIFE   AJJJD   WRITINGS   OF 

She  was  a  mild  and  gentle  child, 

And  kind  and  dutiful, 
She  was  as  fair  as  angels  are, 

And  good  as  beautiful ; 
She  was  too  fair,  and  pure,  and  bright, 

To  linger  longer  here  ; 
The  sweetest  flowers  soonest  fade 

In  this  terrestrial  sphere. 

Though  sickness,  sorrow,  pain  and  death, 

Are  found  in  every  clime, 
They  can  but  blast  our  bloom  and  breath, 

They  can  but  shorten  time  ; 
We  should  not  fear,  nor  from  them  flee, 

They're  angels  in  disguise, 
And  sooner,  o'er  life's  troubled  sea, 

They  waft  us  to  the  skies. 

Amid  a  band,  a  glorious  band, 

Before  God's  throne  of  light, 
Thy  angel  sister  now  doth  stand 

Most  beautiful  and  bright ; 
With  unseen  hand  she  beckons  thee 

To  join  that  glorious  throng, 
Whose  golden  harps  ring  loud  and  free, 

In  sweet  celestial  song. 

&  «  »7of  I 

•  vji  iiulj  t'jt  li '*»•*/>  f)  !'•    •*••«•••••»  Kfnllw  '•  i  A. 

The  memory  of  her  virtues  may 

Still  guide  thy  steps  aright, 
For  unseen  angels  'round  thv  way 

*         i  •          i  i       •    V  j 

Are  hovering  day  and  night ; 
And  her  immortal  spirit  now, 

From  sin  and  sorrow  free, 
Doth  unto  God  with  angels  bow. 

To  intercede  for  thee. 

Then  weep  not,  wail  not,  though  she  's  gone- 

That  from  thy  side  she  's  riven, 
For  fast  the  day  is  rolling  on, 

When  you  may  meet  in  heaven. 
Eemember  what  her  last  words  were  : 

"  I  do  not  fear  to  die  ; 
I  'm  going  home — oh  !  meet  me  there  ; 

Meet  me  beyond  the  sky  ! 

"  I  am  prepared — I  want  to  go — 

I  know  I  am  forgiven — 
Oh !  do  not  weep — it  must  be  so — 

We  'tt  meet  again  in  Heaven  !" 
Then  weep  no  more,  shed  not  a  tear, 

But  trust  the  word  God  's  given  j 
Embrace  his  cause,  the  way  is  clear, 

You  shall  meet  her  in  Heaven. 


ADOLPHUS   F.    MONROE.  99 

!!'  I. 
:»<'• 

THE   HAWTHORN. 

AT  the  close  of  the  evening,  as  twilight  came  down, 
I  strolled  to  the  grove  at  the  east  of  the  town  ; 
And  along  a  lone  path,  with  a  lingering  tread, 
I  strayed,  sadly  musing  on  joys  that  had  fled. 

'Neath  the  bright  waving  boughs  of  an  old  hawthorn, 
That  were  blooming  so  gayly,  one  beautiful  morn, 
I  sat  on  the  trunk  of  a  moss-covered  tree, 
And  a  maid  of  sixteen  was  sitting  by  me. 

But  the  scene  was  now  changed  to  darkness  and  gloom, 
Its  beauties  all  faded,  its  brightness  and  bloom, 
As  I  sat  on  the  trunk  of  that  same  old  tree, 
For  the  sweet  girl  no  longer  was  sitting  by  me. 

The  leaves  were  all  fallen,  and  desolate  the  scene, 
Where  I  wandered  that  morn  with  the  maid  of  sixteen ; 
But  the  bare,  naked  boughs,  so  dear  to  my  heart, 
Were  watered  with  tears  ere  I  rose  to  depart. 


"TO  ADA." 

You  bid  me  forget  thee,  you  say  that  all 's  over, 
That  you  must  no  longer  remember  the  past ; 

You  tell  me  to  meet  thee  no  more  as  a  lover, 
That  the  sweet  spell  is  broken,  is  ended  at  last 

"  I  wish  not  to  remember,"  then  go,  and  forget 

The  bright,  glowing  schemes  of  the  future  we  planned  ; 

When  I  kissed  away  fondly  the  sweet  tears  that  wet, 

Thy  cheek,  when  you  pledged  me  your  heart  and  your  hand. 

Yes,  go,  and  forget  me,  I  '11  never  complain, 

Whatever  of  sorrow  my  soul  may  endure, 
I  '11  bear  it  in  silence  ;  but  never  again, 

Will  I  trust  in  the  faith  that  any  are  pure. 

I  '11  never  forget  thee,  'tis  all  a  vain  task, 

To  stifle  the  feelings  I  've  cherished  so  long ; 
I  can  not  forget  thee,  my  love  I  may  mask, 

But  my  heart  can  ne'er  sing  another  new  song. 

There 's  a  charm  in  thy  name,  a  holy,  sweet  spell 

'Round  the  innermost  chords  of  my  sad  heart  entwined, 

And  though  I  must  bid  thee  a  final  farewell, 
Thy  image,  in  memory,  's  forever  enshrined. 


100  LIFE   AND    WRITINGS    OF 

I  '11  think  of  thee  ever,  wherever  I  go, 

Through  each  scene  of  life,  in  sadness  or  mirth ; 

I  '11  think  of  thee  ever,  in  weal  or  in  woe, 

As  the  brightest,  the  purest,  the  dearest  on  earth. 

Farewell,  then,  though  dear  one,  may  God  ever  hless 
Thy  heart  with  true  friends,  who  '11  never  deceive  ; 

May  the  angels  of  love,  with  a  gentle  caress, 
And  a  sweet  smile  of  welcome,  thy  spirit  receive. 


MY  FLUTE. 

f  ,.j( 
I  LOVK  thee  well !  dear,  good  old  flute, 

I  love  each  soft  and  gentle  tone ; 
To  me  thy  lips  are  never  mute, 

With  thee  I  never  am  alone. 

Thy  gentle  voice,  when  I  am  sad, 

Awakes,  inspires  my  languid  muse ; 
And  my  proud  heart,  when  I  am  glad, 

It  soothes,  and  softens,  and  subdues. 

Thy  thrilling  tones,  so  wildly  clear, 

So  sadly  sweet,  go  where  I  will 
In  this  wide  world,  I  seem  to  hear 

Their  echo  sounding  near  me  still. 

To  thee  I  freely  speak  each  thought — 

A  confidant  of  thee  I  've  made  ; 
And  thou  art  true,  for  ne'er  in  aught, 

Hast  thou  my  confidence  betrayed. 

I  know  thy  worth,  I  've  tried  thy  truth, 

For  many  long  and  weary  years, 
From  that  sweet,  sunny  season,  youth — 

That  April  day  of  smiles  and  tears. 

Companion,  relic,  friend,  and  part 

Of  happy  days,  that 's  gone  before  ; 
From  boyhood  thou  hast  cheered  my  heart 

With  loving,  sweet,  and  holy  love. 

Of  all  my  early  dreams  and  hopes, 

The  sweetest  memories  are  thine  ; 
I  '11  cling  to  thee  'till  heaven  opes, 

Her  golden  gates  to  me  and  mine. 

I  've  other  friends,  whose  love  I  prize 

As  life  itself,  for  friends  are  few ; 
But  none  so  free  from  all  disguise, 

And  none  so  constant,  none  so  true. 


ADOLPHUS    F.  MONROE.  101 

A  battle  with  the  world,  whose  cold, 

And  hard,  and  hollow  hearts  I  hate  ; 
I  smile  to  see  them  sell  for  gold, 

Their  hopes  of  heaven,  and  call  it  "fate  /" 

I  mingle  with  the  young  and  gay, 

In  pleasure's  bright  and  brilliant  train, 
But  soon  I  sadly  turn  away 

To  pour  my  soul  in  some  wild  strain. 

I  feel  that  each  sweet  song  of  thine 

Has  been  to  me  in  mercy  given, 
My  thoughts  and  feelings  to  refine, 

And  lead  my  spirit  up  to  heaven. 

Like  some  bewildered,  shipwrecked  tar, 

Whose  hopes  and  prayers  are  all  to  see 
His  "  friend  and  guide,"  the  Polar  Star, 

So  ever  turns  my  heart  to  thee. 

Let  others  sneer,  in  cold  disdain, 

I  '11  speak  in  praise  of  thee,  old  friend^ 
And  seek  thee  still,  in  joy  or  pain, 

When  I  've  an  idle  hour  to  spend. 

And  oh  !  with  faith,  and  hope,  and  love, 

As  day  by  day  I  'm  toiling  on, 
Thy  songs  shall  waft  my  prayers  above, 

Where  many,  that  I  've  loved,  are  gone. 

In  thy  sweet  voice  I  seem  to  hear 

Familiar  tones  from  "spirit  land;" 
As  if  the  "  loved  and  lost"  were  near, 

With  many  an  unseen  angel  band. 

On  rushing  pinions,  pure  and  white, 

My  angel  father  seems  to  come, 
With  kindred  angels,  flashing  bright, 

To  bear  my  weary  spirit  home. 


TO  "BAT"— A  FAREWELL. 

FAREWELL,  fair  friend  !  a  long  farewell, 

From  thee  I  sadly  sever  ; 
The  words  to  me  come  like  a  knell, — 

I  feel  we  part  forever. 

Farewell !  if  we  should  never  meet 

Again,  thy  memory  will, 
Like  some  sad  strain  of  music  sweet, 

Long  haunt  my  spirit  still. 


102  LIFE  AND    WRITINGS   OF 

Oh  !  each  pure  thought  of  thee  has  wrought, 

A  spell  about  thy  name  ; 
Thy  soaring  soul  my  spirit  taught, 

A  higher,  nobler  aim. 

Why  should  the  heart  thus  yearn  to  know 

A  being  pure  and  good  ? 
We  seldom  meet  them  here  below, 

Nor  prize  them  as  we  should. 

A  yearning  deep  for  the  good  and  fair,     ..  , 

To  every  soul  is  given  ; 
All  pure  and  holy  feelings  are 

As  beacon  lights  to  heaven. 

I  prized  thee,  aye,  as  all  must  do, 
Who  reverence  truth  and  worth; 

I  've  ever  loved  the  good  and  true, 
The  bright  and  pure  of  earth. 

I  loved  thee  as  a  star  that  shed, 

Its  soft,  sweet  light  on  all ; 
But  youth's  sweet  dreams  of  love  have  fled, 

As  leaves  in  autumn  fall. 

Farewell !  may  angels  guard  and  guide  -  » 
Thee  through  the  ills  of  Time  ! 

We  '11  meet  again,  though  severed  wide%  ,,,, 
In  a  brighter,  better  clime. 

That  clime  where  'tis  forever  spring, 
Where  flowers  immortal  bloom, 

Where  every  wandering  zephyr's  wing  '  t 
Comes  laden  with  perfume  : 

Where  seraphs  strike  their  harps  of  gold, 

And  angel  voices  blend ; 
Where  all  are  young,  where  none  grow  old, 

And  life  shall  never  end. 


TO  ONE  WHO  WILL  UNDEKSTAND  IT. 

AFFECTIONS  bloom  and  blossom  bright, 

But  if,  in  blooming,  blast, 
They  shrink  beneath  the  bitter  blight, 

And,  withering,  die  at  last 

Those  early,  fresh,  and  fragrant  flowers 

Of  love,  are  sweet  and  pure  ; 
Too  pure  for  this  cold  world  of  ours, 

They  seldom  long  endure. 


ADOLPHUS    F.    MONROE.  103 

Their  fragrance  fleet  our  senses  greet, 

To  pass  away  with  tears  ; 
We  '11  never  meet  with  aught  so  sweet, 

lu  all  our  after  years. 

You  might  have  won  my  hand  and  heart, 

If  we  had  sooner  met  ; 
But  on  love's  stage  I  've  played  my  part, 

A  part  I  '11  ne'er  forget. 

I  might  have  loved  thee  well  and  truly, 

As  any  one  on  earth  ; 
I  do  respect  thee  much,  and  duly 

Appreciate  thy  worth. 

I  '11  ever  love  thee  as  a  sister  — 

May  this  thy  heart  console, 
There  's  ne'er  a  Miss  but  there  's  a  Mr., 

To  own  her  soft  control. 

Forgive  my  fun,  no  wrong  I  've  done, 

'Tis  all  I  ask  of  thee, 
By  yonder  sun,  I  'm  not  the  one 

To  bow  or  bend  the  knee. 


Of  bachelors  there  's^ots  and  scores, 

A  plenty  and  to  spare, 
Who  '11  kneel  to  thee,  upon  "  all-fours," 

To  swear  that  thou  art  fair. 

Long  ere  we  had  been  thrown  together, 

I  had  no  heart  to  give  ; 
Long  since  I  learned  to  love  another, 

And  must  love  while  I  live. 

'aid  -T 
A  maiden  lovely,  young,  and  fair, 

And  graceful  as  a  fairy, 
With  none  but  her  I  '11  fortune  share. 

And  none  but  her  I  '11  marry. 

Her  brow  is  like  a  throne  of  light, 
Where  truth  her  glory  twines, 

Her  soulful  eye,  a  window  bright, 
Through  which  her  spirit  shines. 

A  gentle,  guileless,  girlish  creature, 
Half  woman  and  half  child, 

And  soul  and  sense,  in  every  feature, 
Are  beaming  soft  and  mild. 

A  gentle,  guileless,  girlish  creature, 
Though  long  from  her  exiled, 

I  've  sacred  held  each  cherished  feature, 
Smct;  first  on  me  she  smiled. 


104:  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF 

I  '11  ne'er  forget  her,  though  I  rove 

On  every  land  and  sea  ; 
Her  sweet,  confiding  love  and  trust 

Are  dearer  still  to  me. 

Oh  !  love  's  a  living,  lasting  flame, 
And  gilds  our  sorrows  o'er  ; 

To  memory  each  beloved  name 
Is  hallowed  evermore. 

"When  once  the  heart  hath  learn'd  to  sing 
Love's  sweet  and  holy  song, 

Its  music  thrills  each  chord  and  string, 
And  vibrates  late  and  long. 


LINES 

WRITTEN   AND   PRESENTED   TO   MY   SISTER  UPON  HER  WEDDING  DAT, 
WITH   A   COPY  OP   THE   BIBLE. 

SISTER,  this  book  I  give  to  thee, 

Upon  thy  wedding  day, 
That  it  may  speak  to  thee  for  me, 

When  I  am  far  away. 
This  day,  my  sister,  seals  thy  fate, 

For  weal  or  woe  through  life — 
Unites  thee  to  thy  chosen  mate — 

Makes  thee  his  wedded  wife. 

This  day  you  give  your  heart  and  hand 

To  him  who  won  your  love — 
Oh  !  may  that  union  sacred  stand 

Till  you  both  meet  above  ! 
Thy  choice,  my  sister,  I  approve, 

And  welcome  my  new  brother ; 
He  is  my  friend — a  friend  I  love — 

Long  we  've  been  friends  together. 

He  has  a  proud  and  manly  heart, 

A  high  and  noble  soul  ; 
With  love  and  truth  he  '11  do  his  part, 

But  will  not  brook  control ; 
Then,  sister,  let  no  harsh  word  mar 

Thy  peace  and  quietness  ; 
Nor  ever  let  a  useless  jar 

Disturb  thy  happiness. 

In  future,  strive  to  please  him  well, 

As  you  would  strive  this  day, 
Remember,  that  you  've  said,  "  I  will 

Love,  honor,  and  obey." 


ADOLPHDS    F.  MONROE.  105 

And  when  his  heart  is  bowed  with  care, 

And  trials  press  him  sore, 
Then,  sister,  then  'tis  thine  to  share 

His  heart  forevermore. 

Oh  !  ever  meet  his  coming  feet 

With  welcome  kind  and  true, 
His  presence  greet,  with  smiles  as  sweet 

As  love  would  have  thee  do. 
Oh  !  with  kind  words  of  love  and  grace, 

And  sympathizing  eyes, 
The  world  will  prove  a  pleasant  place, 

And  home  a  paradise. 

Oh  !  sister,  read  this  book  with  care, 

With  patient  mind  and  heart, 
And  read  it  with  the  constant  prayer 

For  aid  to  do  thy  part. 
Sister,  may  God  in  mercy  bless 

Thy  union,  while  you  live, 
And  may  both  find  that  happiness 

That  He,  alone,  can  give. 

And  may  you  both  in  wisdom's  ways, 

And  in  the  paths  of  peace, 
Delight  to  walk  through  all  thy  days, 

And  all  thy  joys  increase  ; 
And,  oh !  when  death  dissolves  the  tie 

You  form  this  day,  of  love, 
Oh  !  may  you  then,  beyond  the  sky, 

Be  joined  again  above  : 

Be  joined  where  'tis  forever  spring, 

Where  flowers  immortal  bloom, 
Where  every  breeze  or  zephyr's  wing 

Is  laden  with  perfume  ; 
Where  seraphs  strike  their  harps  of  gold, 

And  angel  voices  blend — 
Where  all  is  youth — where  none  grow  old — 

Where  life  shall  never  end. 


cor 


TO   THE 


FALMOUTH,  December  6,  1866. 

IN  presenting  the  following  pages,  I  feel  it  to  be  an  imperative  duty  I 
owe  to  the  memory  of  him  whose  narrative  you  have  before  you,  as  well 
as  for  the  sake  of  the  truth,  to  notice  some  of  the  causes  that  led  to  the 
untimely  end  of  Mr.  Ellington  ;  also  the  illegal  and  unjust  proceedings  that 
marked  the  whole  of  Monroe's  confinement,  trial  and  end.  In  doing  so,  I 
shall  not  attempt  to  give  the  whole  in  detail,  but  shall  confine  myself  to 
some  of  the  leading  causes. 

The  family  difficulty  doubtless  originated  out  of  the  opposition  of  Mrs. 
Ellington  to  the  marriage  of  her  daughter  with  Monroe.  She  was  opposed 
to  the  marriage  from  the  commencement  of  Monroe's  visiting  the  house, 
and  even  after  the  ceremony  incessantly  poured  forth  her  invectives  against 
her  son-in-law's  frequently  visiting  the  house  ;  and  unmindful  of  her  duty 
as  a  mother,  who  should  have  had  the  interest  of  her  children  at  heart, 
did  much  to  break  up  the  harmony  that  existed  between  Monroe  and  his 
wife ;  thus  the  difficulty  originated,  aided  by  the  newsmongers  of  the 
town — those  busybodies  who,  never  having  any  business  of  their  own  must 
necessarily  attend  to  others  :  such  characters  may  be  found  in  almost  every 
village. 

For  a  long  time  Ellington  and  Monroe  were  as  they  should  have  remained, 
friends  ;  but  alas,  they  remained  not  so  ;  reports  of  an  aggravated  character 
were  whispered  to  Monroe  purporting  to  come  from  Ellington,  and  vice 
versa  ;  but  those  characters  already  alluded  to,  uniting  in  their  exertions, 
finally  succeeded  in  breaking  off  the  friendship  and  establishing  a  feeling 
of  dislike  between  them  ;  and  doubtless  caused  both  to  say  many  things 
against  each  other  that  otherwise  never  would  have  been  said  or  thought. 
It  may  be  proper  here  to  say,  that  Mr.  Ellington  was  a  man  of  social 
feelings,  quiet  and  hard  to  excite  to  anger,  but  firm  and  resolute.  Mon- 
roe, though  social  in  his  feelings,  was  of  an  excitable  disposition,  apt  to 
bpeak  free,  and  quick  to  resent  an  insult. 

I  regard  both  Ellington  and  Monroe  as  the  victims  of  circumstances, 
rather  than  censure  ;  but  from  the  day  upon  which  the  fatal  trigger  was 
106 


TO   THE   PUBLIC.  107 

pulled,  the  whole  community,  without  inquiring  whether  there  were 
any  palliating  circumstances  attending  the  fatal  act,  seemed  determined 
to  have  Monroe's  life  whether  right  or  wrong.  Thus  the  harmony  that 
existed  between  those  men  was  destroyed,  and  consequently  they  frequently 
met  with  thoughts  not  of  peace  in  their  hearts  ;  but  after  conversing, 
would  find  that  the  reports  were  not  true  and  without  a  shadow  of  foun- 
dation, and  then  they  would  part  in  peace. 

Ellington  was  a  man  of  long  standing  in  the  county,  and  had  perhaps  as 
many  friends  as  any  one  in  the  county  ;  and  I  doubt  not,  justly  so  ;  for, 
from  what  I  know  of  him  he  merited  the  esteem  of  all.  He  was  a  man 
of  considerable  wealth,  which  perhaps  added  to  his  popularity  as  a  man ; 
whereas  Monroe  was,  comparatively  speaking,  a  stranger,  having  not  yet 
been  in  the  place  quite  four  years  ;  not  able  to  command  but  small  means, 
and  could  consequently  call  but  few  his  friends,  and  most  of  those  after- 
ward seemed  to  desert  him,  leaving  him  in  the  hands  of  Ellington 's  friends, 
and  his  enemies.  Whether  those  friends  were  prompted  thus  to  forsake 
him  for  fear  of  a  personal  attack,  or  for  fear  of  endangering  their  property, 
or  for  fear  that  they  should  be  called  upon  to  aid  him  with  their  means, 
yet  remains  to  me  unknown  ;  but  doubtless  they  were  afraid  of  both. 
Those  few  friends  who  seemed  to  stick  to  him  and  do  all  they  could  for 
him,  did  not  consider  it  safe  to  openly  defend  or  speak  in  his  behalf. 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  give  a  history  of  the  trial,  but  merely  give  a  few 
facts  connected  therewith.  I  have  always  considered  it  a  mockery — a 
mere  show  or  pretense  of  dispensing  justice.  During  the  whole  course  of 
the  trial,  the  court-room  was  crowded  to  overflowing,  so  much  so  that  it 
was  impossible  to  keep  order ;  scoffs  and  jeers  might  be  seen  and  heard 
throughout  the  entire  crowd.  While  the  lawyer  for  the  defense  was  mak- 
ing his  speech,  he  was  frequently  interrupted  by  the  murmurs,  or  rather, 
decided  efforts  of  the  friends,  or  rather,  of  their  hired  or  excited  multi- 
tude. By  these  means  the  jury  was  intimated,  or  even  I  might  say,  it 
was  overawed  by  the  mob,  and  were  compelled  even  in  self-defense  to 
return  the  verdict  they  did. 

The  judge,  for  not  adjourning  the  court,  owing  to  the  threatening  of  the 
mob,  is  reprehensible,  when  it  was  evident  to  every  impartial  mind,  that  a 
fair  trial,  under  the  excitement,  could  not  be  had  ;  such  even  as  the  law, 
in  its  most  strict  construction,  guarantees  to  every  one,  but  should  be  ex- 
tended to  all,  let  their  crimes  be  ever  so  great  or  aggravated.  During  the 
trial,  the  rope  was  in  the  court-room  and  even  held  up  before  the  eyes  of 
the  court  and  the  prisoner,  by  some  of  the  mob,  without  the  judge  or  the 
sheriff  daring  to  reprimand  them ;  and  a  guard  for  the  prisoner  was  not 
7 


108  TO    THE   PUBLIC. 

even  allowed,  but  he  was  suffered  to  be  pressed  upon  and  howled  after  by 
fiends  wearing  the  human  shape  ;  showing  thereby  the  determination  of 
the  populace,  and  deterring  the  friends  of  law  and  order  from  taking  the 
course  that  humanity  and  justice  required  at  their  hands.  The  sheriff, 
John  R.  Jeffrees,  of  Coles  county,  appears  to  have  taken  particular  pains 
to  court  the  favor  of  the  mob  populace,  using  all  means  to  render  the 
prisoner's  life,  while  yet  on  earth,  miserable — if  possible  more  so  than  it 
was ;  as  if  giving  him  a  foretaste  of  the  hell  which  they  thought  he  should 
enjoy,  withholding  from  him  as  far  as  possible  the  comfort  of  hearing  from, 
or  seeing  his  friends. 

He  was  placed  in  a  dark,  cold  and  dreary  cell,  not  allowed  fire  by  the 
court,  and  not  until  he  had  suffered  much,  were  his  friends  permitted  to 
add  a  little  to  his  comfort  by  placing  a  stove  in  his  cell  and  placing  fuel 
at  his  disposal.  The  Governor,  by  representations  of  a  few  of  his  friends, 
suggested  to  the  aforesaid  sheriff  of  Coles  county  the  propriety  of  the 
removal  of  the  prisoner  to  some  adjoining  county  or  the  summoning  of  a 
sufficient  guard  to  defend  him  in  his  duty  and  to  protect  the  prisoner's 
life.  He  did  neither  ;  though  frequently  appealed  to  by  myself  and  other 
friends  of  Monroe,  he  said  he  had  a  sufficient  guard  to  protect  the  prisoner, 
and  would  do  it.  But  alas,  on  the  day,  where  were  the  stanch  guard  and 
the  sheriff?  They  were  not  to  be  found ;  no  defense  made  ;  no  effort 
made  to  save  the  unfortunate  from  the  infuriated  and  highly  excited 
crowd.  Thus  stands  John  R.  Jeffrees,  sheriff  of  Coles  county,  on  whose 
head,  perhaps,  more  than  on  any  other,  rests  the  fate  of  Monroe. 

James  Cunningham,  the  brother-in-law  of  Mr.  Ellington,  said  to  be  the 
•wealthiest  man  in  the  county,  to  make  his  words  good,  as  I  frequently 
heard,  i.  e.  that  Monroe  should  be  hung  law  or  no  law,  or  he  would  spend 
every  dollar  he  was  worth,  rode  night  and  day  to  collect  his  more  than 
fiends  in  human  shape  to  accomplish  his  aim. 

I  shall  only  notice  some  few  of  those  more  particularly  engaged 
in  the  diabolical  deed.  One  by  the  name  of  Fleming,  acted  as  hangman 
on  the  occasion,  though  since  he  has  been  heard  to  say,  "  he  would  never 
have  engaged  in  the  like,  had  it  not  been  for  others."  The  leaders  not 
having  courage  to  step  boldly  forward,  and  do  their  dirty  work,  pushed 
others  forward.  One  of  these,  0.  B.  Ficklin,  even  pushed  Fleming  for- 
ward, when  he  Avould  have  backed  out,  and  compelled  him  to  complete  the 
dastardly  outrage.  James  D.  Ellington,  I  should  pass  by  unnoticed,  did 
not  justice  to  the  dead  as  well  as  to  place  the  living  in  their  proper  light 
before  the  community,  compel  me  to  do  so,  as  it  would  be  expected  that 
he  should  by  all  means  honorable  endeavor  to  avenge  his  father's  death. 


TO   THE   PUBLIC. 


109 


Though  known  to  be  a  man  void  of  truth,  yet,  under  the  circumstances, 
he  was  enabled  by  the  aid  of  the  Charleston  Courier  to  make  an  impression 
prejudicial  to  Monroe.  Had  the  difficulty  not  originated  between  himself 
and  Byrd  Monroe,  which  originated  out  of  some  of  said  gentleman's  knovm 
veracity,  the  evening  before,  and  his  reports  of  said  difficulty  to  his  father, 
Monroe  and  Ellington  would  yet  be  living,  as  Monroe  was  at  the  time 
making  arrangement  to  remove  his  family  from  out  of  the  influence  of  the 
said  Monroe's  family  ;  and  had  James  D.  Ellington  told  the  truth  to  his 
father,  at  night,  Adolphus  would  not  have  been  mixed  up  in  the  difficulty. 

To  describe  the  appearance  of  the  mob  on  the  fatal  morning,  would  be 
impossible  ;  but  most  men  have  seen  some  few  men  under  the  influence 
of  passion,  and  of  the  worst ;  when  we  add  to  this  the  deleterious  effects 
of  alcohol  on  some  four  or  five  thousand  we  may  behold  the  mob. 

We  will  give  the  public  a  few  of  those  who  were  most  active  in  urging 
on  and  collecting  the  mob. 


Jas.  Cunningham, 
Jas.  D.  Ellington, 
Dennis  Hanks, 
William  Eperson, 

John  Allen, 
John  Kelley, 
J.  B.  Kelley, 

Vanvarus, 

William  Hart, 
Henry  Stephens, 
David  Fansler, 
Will  Little, 
J.  J.  Conley, 
Sol.  Cossel, 
Thomas  Fleming, 
Samuel  French, 
Jas.  Eastin, 
Samuel  Gray, 
Wm.  Hinchman, 


The  Tools. 


Jefferson  Coleman, 
Allen  Coleman, 
John  Eperson. 


Thomas  Bradford, 

John  Jones, 

Drew  Wallace, 

Robert  Davis, 

French  of  Saulsberry, 

Dr.  Furguson, 

McNary  of  Clark  Co. 

Jackson  White, 

Thomas  Eperson, 

Wm.  Love, 

Nap.  Stone, 

Martin  Runnels. 

John  Hunlsneer, 

Esq.  Gard, 

Thos.  Fleming,  the  hangman. 


We  could  go  on  and  give  you  divers  other  names,  some  of  whom  we 
do  not  know,  but  these  few  may  answer.  N.  B.  ATTLICK. 

FALMOUTH,  KENTUCKY,  December  21,  1856. 

The  undersigned  are  now  and  have  been  citizens  severally,  of  the  county 
of  Pendleton,  State  of  Kentucky,  for  near  forty  years ;  much  the  greater 
portion  of  which  period,  they  have  resided  in  the  town  of  Falmouth,  the 
seat  of  justice  of  the  county.  Adolphus  F.  Monroe,  who  was  barbarously 


110  TO    THE    PUBLIC. 

and  brutally  murdered  by  an  infuriated  mob  in  February,  1856,  at  Charles- 
ton, Coles  county,  State  of  Illinois,  was  well  know  by  them,  from  his  in- 
fancy up  to  his  cruel  and  lawless  death.  He  was  born  and  raised  in  their 
said  town  (one  of  them  was  his  guardian  during  his  minority),  and  his 
family  and  kindred  are  well  and  intimately  known  to  them,  as  neighbors, 
fellow-townsmen  and  citizens.  Both  his  parents  were,  and  are  members 
of  families  of  as  high  repute,  merit,  and  respectability,  as  the  most  vain 
could  desire  to  boast  of.  His  mother  is  the  daughter  of  David  Clark- 
son,  Esq.,  now  deceased,  an  early  settler  in  this  section  of  the  State; 
he  lived  to  an  advanced  stage  of  life ;  died,  leaving  a  numerous  family, 
his  descendants,  many  years  since,  respected,  beloved,  and  regretted  by 
all  whose  favor  it  was  to  have  made  his  acquaintance  while  living. 

The  father  of  Adolphus  was  Jeremiah  Monroe,  an  early  citizen  of  the 
village.  He  was  a  physician  of  distinction,  by  profession  ;  commenced  an 
extensive  practice,  and  was  noted  for  his  benevolence,  as  a  practitioner 
and  man  ;  for  his  many  virtues,  his  moral  worth,  sterling  and  unbending 
integrity  and  candor  as  a  citizen,  as  well  as  an  exemplary  deportment  as  a 
professor  and  Christian,  and  as  a  kind  and  devoted  father.  Dr.  Monroe 
departed  this  life  in  the  year  1831  ;  and  now  lies  buried  within  one-and- 
a-half  miles  of  Falmouth,  the  «place  in  which  he  had  practiced  his  profes- 
sion for  many  years  anterior  to  his  death,  and  near  which  he  died  sincerely 
bemoaned  and  lamented  by  all  who  knew  him. 

At  the  time  of  the  death  of  Dr.  Jeremiah  Monroe,  he  left  surviving 
him,  his  afflicted  and  bereft  wife  and  three  infant  children—- an  only  son 
and  two  daughters.  That  only  son  was  Adolphus  F.  Monroe,  then  only 
about  four  years  old,  and  who,  with  a  senior  and  a  junior  sister,  composed 
the  family,  the  care  and  moral  nurture  whereof  devolved  upon  the  widowed 
mother,  as  head  and  protector,  with  means,  as  to  comforts  of  worldly 
effects,  limited  in  extent.  For,  though  the  father  was  a  good  physician, 
commanding,  in  his  day,  a  large  practice,  yet  it  was  his  fate,  not  to  have 
accumulated  a  large  estate.  Upon  the  mother,  Mrs.  Maria  Monroe,  his 
widow,  principally,  was  cast  the  effort  to  maintain,  rear  and  educate  her 
infant  children.  No  orphans,  perhaps,  were  ever  blessed  with  a  more 
affectionate  and  devoted  mother,  or  who,  for  kindness  and  benevolence  of 
heart,  not  only  toward  her  own  children,  but  wherever  sickness  and  dis- 
tress demanded  relief,  commanded  to  a  greater  extent,  the  regard  and  the 
respect  of  her  neighbors  and  acquaintances.  Though  of  a  delicate  physi- 
cal constitution,  and  of  feeble  corporeal  powers,  none  performed  more 
faithfully  all  the  duties  of  mother  and  neighbor ;  and  none  perhaps,  suc- 
ceeded better,  in  rearing  her  little  family  flock,  or  was  more  deeply  imbued 


TO   THE   PUBLIC.  Ill 

with  an  abiding  sense  of  Christian  morality  and  the  precepts  of  integrity  and 
honor ;  and  none  deserved  less  the  inhuman  and  barbarous  fate,  cruelly 
inflicted  upon  a  widowed  mother's  heart,  than  the  Charleston  mob,  with 
all  its  hellish  and  inhuman  monstrosities,  inflicted  upon  her,  a  stranger  and 
homeless  woman  in  their  midst,  in  the  savage,  the  barbarous  and  the  law- 
less murder  and  death  of  her  only  son, — be  he  guilty  or  innocent  of  the 
offense  charged  against  him. 

O  O 

The  undersigned  have  known  that  son,  Adolphus  F.  Monroe,  from  his 
cradle  to  his  manhood,  and  thereafter  up  to  1852,  then  aged  about  twenty- 
five  years,  when  he  left  his  native  village  or  town  for  Charleston,  Coles 
county,  Illinois.  His  standing  and  character  as  a  boy — his  standing  and 
character  as  a  man,  while  in  the  county  and  town  of  his  birth — was  that 
of  respectability,  that  of  morality,  sobriety  and  good  deportment,  as  well 
as  honesty  and  integrity.  No  youth  raised,  within  the  memory  of  the 
undersigned,  in  the  town  or  county  of  his  birth,  commanded  more  the 
regard  and  respect  of  his  fellow-citizens,  for  a  high  sense  of  honor,  moral 
deportment,  and  due  observance  of  all  the  proprieties  and  courtesies  and 
decencies  of  life — none,  more  devotedly  attached  or  subservient  in  all  his 
efforts,  to  relieve  the  wants  of  a  widowed  mother  and  her  orphan  children. 
He  received,  by  the  efforts  of  that  mother,  and  of  his  own  and  that  of 
friends,  a  substantial  common  English  education,  at  the  Pendleton  Acad- 
emy in  this  place  ;  possessed  more  than  an  ordinary  active,  apt  and  intel- 
ligent mind,  and  no  youth,  according  to  the  circumstances  which  sur- 
rounded him,  had  brighter  and  more  promising  prospects  in  the  future  ; 
and  though  of  an  ardent  and  rather  impulsive  temperament,  especially  where 
his  honor  or  integrity  was  in  the  remotest  manner  casually  or  intentionally 
involved,  yet  none  were  more  true  or  sincere  in  friendship  or  family  affec- 
tions ;  none  more  willing  or  faithful  in  consecrating  his  earliest  efforts  and 
labors  to  the  aid  of  a  widowed  mother  and  her  family.  And  if  ever  there 
was  aught  whispered  to  his  disparagement,  or  an  accusation  of  crime  or 
offense  against  him,  before  he  left  Kentucky  in  1852,  for  Charleston,  111., 
or  prior  to  the  charge  against  him  in  1856,  of  having  unfortunately,  in  an 
affray,  killed  his  father-in-law,  it  is  wholly  unknown  to  the  undersigned, 
who  had  full  and  open  opportunity  and  every  reasonable  facility  to  know 
his  every-day  walk  from  his  birth  until  1852. 

Judicial  murders,  or  lawless  mob  murders,  perpetrated  within  a  country 
like  ours,  which  boasts  of  its  liberty,  and  as  being  regulated  by  laws 
absolutely  protective  of  the  life,  property  and  characters  of  its  individual 
citizens,  are,  upon  the  supposition  that  such  atrocities  have  but  too  fre- 
quently transpired,  mournful  and  inauspicious  subjects,  presented  to  the 


112  TO    THE   PUBLIC. 

serious  contemplation  of  the  lover  of  his  country  and  its  republican 
form  of  government ;  if  not  positively  ominous  against  the  experiment 
now  in  progress  of  testing  itself,  upon  this  Continent ;  whether  any  people 
are  sufficiently  intelligent  and  virtuous  and  law-abiding  in  themselves,  to 
govern  themselves,  and  while  so  doing  to  confer  reliable  security  and  safety 
upon  individuals,  in  the  enjoyment  of  private  property,  life,  and  civil 
liberty.  Be  the  signs  of  the  times  what  they  may, — and  the  action  of 
mobs  against  life  and  upon  court-houses,  as  temples  dispensing  law  and 
justice,  where  life  and  property  are  in  jeopardy — either  auspicious  or  inaus- 
picious as  to  the  perpetuity  or  destruction  of  the  government,  the  15th  of 
February,  1856,  will  ever  mournfully  be  borne  in  memory  in  the  simple 
annals  of  the  town  of  Falmouth,  as  the  day  upon  which  the  inhumanly 
beaten  and  cruelly  mangled  dead  body  of  Adolphus  F.  Monroe  arrived 
in  town,  accompanied  and  guarded  by  his  heart-stricken  and  grief-dis- 
tracted mother,  wife,  sister,  and  brother-in-law,  having  been  forced  to  flee 
with  that  body  from  the  worse  than  savage  and  lawless  mob  of  Charleston 
and  seek  protection  and  refuge  in  his  native  town,  and  a  grave  for  one  of 
its  native  sons.  The  respect  and  sympathy  entertained  for  him,  as  one  of 
its  native  sons,  and  of  those  who  knew  him  from  his  childhood,  and  his 
family,  were  mournfully  manifested  upon  the  day  following,  by  a  solemn 
funeral  procession,  larger  than  is  usually  congregated  upon  ordinary  occa- 
sions, following  his  mangled  corpse  to  the  little  island,  in  the  bosom  of  one 
of  our  rivers,  selected  by  himself  while  the  mob  was  being  collected  to  take 
his  life,  as  the  romantic  spot  endeared  by  happy  reminiscences  of  past 
days  ;  and  to  which  he  requested  his  mortal  remains  to  be  consigned.  And 
there  he  now  reposes,  with  the  clods  which  weigh  heavily  upon  his  bosom 
consecrated  by  the  bitter  tears  of  a  mother,  an  only  sister  and  his  wife, 
all  present  upon  the  last  sad,  solemn  occasion  ;  and  that  wife  affectionately 
devoted  to  him  in  death,  the  daughter  of  him  whom,  it  is  alleged,  he 
deprived  of  life  with  a  murderous  intent ;  while  no  one  who  knew  him  as 
a  boy  and  as  a  man,  in  the  long  list  of  acquaintances  and  associates  of 
his  earlier  days,  is  willing  to  believe  that  Adolphus  F.  Monroe  ever  com- 
mitted homicide  with  malice  prepense  at  heart. 

S.  THOS.  HAUSER. 

REUBEN  Me  C ARTY. 

JAMES  WILSON. 


APPENDIX. 

THE   MONROE   CASE. 
HOW  IT  WAS  CONDUCTED-GEN,  LINDER'S  CONDUCT. 


CHARLESTON,  March  29th,  1856. 
MB.  NAPOLEON  B.  AULICK  : 

Dear  Sir : — Many  things  have  been  said,  public  and 
private,  of  my  defense  of  your  brother-in-law,  A.  F.  Monroe.  It  has  been 
charged  that  I  did  not  defend  him  with  my  usual  zeal  and  ability.  Now, 
sir,  I  wish  you  to  state  your  opinion  frankly  and  freely  upon  this  subject ; 
for,  whether  it  is  against  me  or  for  me,  I  intend  to  give  it  to  the  public. 

Yours,  truly, 

TJ.  F.  LlNDEB. 

CHABLESTON,  ///.,  April  23d,  1856. 

MB.  USHEH  F.  LINDEB  : 

Dear  Sir: — Yours  of  the  29th  ult.  should  have  met 
with  earlier  attention  at  my  hands,  but,  supposing  that  you  wished  my  free 
and  unreserved  opinion,  and  also  presuming  that  if  the  facts  upon  which 
that  opinion  is  based,  accompanied  the  opinion,  it  would  prove  not  only 
very  acceptable  to  you,  but  serve,  at  the  same  time,  as  a  complete  vindica- 
tion of  your  course  as  the  counsel  of  my  late  unfortunate  brother-in-law, 
A.  F.  Monroe. 

You  will  doubtless  remember,  that  on  the  day  upon  which  my  brother- 
in-law  was  unfortunate  enough  to  take  the  life  of  Mr.  Nathan  Ellington, 
his  father-in-law,  in  an  affray  between  them,  you  was  employed  to  defend 
Monroe,  charging  only  the  moderate  and  reasonable  fee  of  $1,000  for  your 
services.  You  took  charge  of  the  case,  and  for  some  reason  or  other,  the 
nature  of  which  I  do  not  know,  refused  to  allow  your  client  to  appear 
before  the  examining  court.  However,  it  may  be  well  enough  for  me  to 
state  (in  order  that  the  public  may  be  made  fully  acquainted  with  the 
fairness  and  zeal  for  the  cause  of  your  client,  and  the  honorable  manner 
in  which  you  commenced,  and  continued  to  the  end,  the  conducting  of 
the  case),  that  on  the  clay  Ellington  was  shot,  and  in  a  few  minutes  after 
you  was  employed,  you  started  out  to  collect  the  evidence  for  the  defense. 
On  your  hunt  after  evidence,  you  met  A.  G.  Jones,  Esq.,  one  of  the  law- 
yers for  the  prosecution,  and  told  Mm  that  you  had  started  out  with  the 


114:  APPENDIX. 

intention  of  going  round  the  public  square,  but  had  not  got  more  than  half 
around,  and  had  found,  in  that  small  compass,  not  only  evidence  enough  to 
hang  your  present  client,  but,  you  ivas  afraid  to  go  the  remainder  of  the  cir- 
cuit, for  fear  you  should  find  evidence  enough  to"  lap  over"  and  hang  some 
of  your  future  clients!  Now,  sir,  who  can  doubt  that  you  conducted  the 
case  with  your  "usual  zeal  and  ability,"  when  you  commenced  by  telling 
the  above  to  one  of  the  prosecuting  attorneys  ?  I  can  not,  have  not,  and  do 
not  doubt  it  ?  Well,  a  few  days  after  the  above  acknowledgment  to  Mr 
Jones,  and  while  Ellington  was  yet  alive,  the  preliminary  examination  of 
Monroe  was  held.  At  that  examination  you  not  only  would  not  permit  your 
client  to  be  present,  but  actually  refused  to  introduce  witnesses  in  his  behalf, 
witnesses  whose  testimony  would  have  been  favorable  to  his  cause  ;  and  al- 
lowed the  prosecution  to  introduce  and  examine  theirs ;  literally  making  no 
defense,  and  pledging  yourself  that  your  client  should  not  have  a  change 
of  venue,  and  stating  that  you  was  authorized  by  your  client  to  make  such, 
statement,  and  that  it  was  his  (your  client's)  determination  to  stand  his 
trial  at  the  next  term  of  the  court.  That  statement,  sir,  was  false.  Your 
client  did  not  authorize  you  to  make  any  such  pledge,  and  you  not  only 
knew  it,  but,  also,  you  knew  it  was  his  intention  to  have  made  application 
for  a  change  of  venue,  as  he,  and  every  one  else,  was  fully  aware  of  the 
impossibility  of  his  obtaining  a  fair  and  impartial  trial  in  this  county.  I 
was  absent  from  town  the  day  of  the  preliminary  examination,  and  was  not 
aware  of  your  pledging  your  client  for  a  trial  in  this  county,  until  the  Sat- 
urday before  the  term  of  the  court,  called  for  the  trial  of  this  case,  in  Feb- 
ruary last,  when  I  happened  to  see  a  notice  to  that  effect  in  the  "  Courier" 
which  was  issued  the  week  preceding  the  trial.  I  immediately  came  to  you 
with  the  paper  containing  that  announcement,  and  asked  you  if  such  was 
the  fact,  and  if  you  had  made  such  a  pledge.  Your  reply  was  that  you 
had.  I  then  asked  you  if  you  intended  to  redeem  that  pledge.  You  re- 
plied that  you  must  do  it — was  compelled  to  redeem  it,  from  the  fact  that 
this  was  your  home  ;  that  all  your  property  was  here,  and  here  was  your  all ; 
with  home,  property,  reputation,  your  all  at  stake,  you  could  not  do  other- 
wise than  redeem  that  pledge  ;  and  that  your  only  regret  was,  that  you  had 
not  told  Monroe  and  myself  of  the  existence  of  that  pledge  sooner,  so  that 
I  might  have  employed  other  counsel  in  the  case.  Then,  sir,  I  informed 
you  that  you  could  consider  yourself  no  longer  a  counsel  in  the  case  ;  that 
/would  not  submit  to  my  friend  and  brother  being  tried  in  any  such  man- 
ner. You  then  agreed  to  leave  the  case.  James  Monroe  and  1  then  went 
down  to  your  office,  and  I  took  up  my  note,  and  the  mortgage  on  my  land, 
which  I  had  given  you  to  secure  your  fee.  This  was  on  the  Saturday  night 
previous  to  the  sitting  of  the  court,  which  commenced  on  the  Monday 


APPENDIX.  115 

following.  You  said  you  released  every  thing  in  relation  to  the  fee,  thank- 
ing your  God  for  making  you  too  honest  to  exact  a  fee  under  such  circum- 
stances, stating  that  you  would  just  as  soon  steal  the  money  as  to  exact  it 
for  attempting  his  defense  here  ;  that  Monroe  might  just  as  well  be  taken 
out  into  the  street  and  shot,  as  to  be  tried  in  Coles  county.  You  then  dic- 
tated, while  James  Monroe  wrote  an  application  to  the  judge  for  a  change 
of  venue,  which  /was  to  hand  to  the  prisoner,  and  he  to  Judge  Harlan. 
You  then  volunteered  your  services  to  James  Monroe  and  myself,  to  put  off 
the  trial  (as  you  considered  that  a  much  safer  plan  for  the  prisoner  than  to 
apply  for  the  change  of  venue,  as  the  mob  had  determined  there  should  be 
no  change),  on  the  grounds  that  the  prisoner  was  not  prepared  to  enter 
upon  his  trial,  important  witnesses  for  the  defense  being  absent.  You  also 
stated  that  if  you  could  not  get  a  continuation  of  the  trial  on  that  ground, 
you  would  do  so  by  challenging  the  jurors. 

Perfectly  relying  upon  your  promises,  and  having  the  utmost  confidence 
in  your  integrity  and  honesty  in  the  matter,  I  left  the  case  to  be  managed 
by  you,  in  your  own  way;  fully  understanding  that  if  you  did  not  suc- 
ceed in  putting  off  the  trial,  then  we  were  to  make  the  application  for  a 
change  of  venue. 

On  Monday  evening  the  grand  jury  reported  a  true  bill  against  the  pri- 
soner, and  on  Tuesday  morning,  when  I  entered  the  court-room,  I  was  not 
only  astonished  to  find  that  you  had  made  no  effort  to  have  the  trial  con- 
tinued, but  that  part  of  the  jury  was  already  impanneled,  and  the  remain- 
der were  being  found  among  the  crowd,  and  you  did  not  challenge  one  of 
them  !  As  I  do  not  wish  to  lose  one  item  that  may  prove  beneficial  to 
you  in  setting  your  conduct  right  before  the  people,  I  will  now  state  what 
I  should  have  done  before  a  remark  you  made  during  the  conversation 
with  James  Monroe  and  myself,  held  at  your  office  on  the  Saturday  night 
preceding  the  trial.  You  said,  that  if  we  succeeded  in  getting  the  change 
of  venue,  and  got  the  prisoner  out  of  the  county,  and  wished  you  to  do  so, 
you  would  then  appear  for  and  clear  him  in  spite  of  h — II !  and  that  the 
most  that  could  be  made  against  him  would  be  manslaughter. 

After  you  had  gone  into  the  trial,  you  drew  up  a  note  for  $910, 
(having  received,  previously,  $90  out  of  the  81,000),  took  it  to  the 
jail,  after  night,  and  got  the  prisoner  to  sign  it,  securing  said  note  by  a 
mortgage  on  160  acres  of  land  belonging  to  the  prisoner. 

And,  again,  on  Tuesday  morning  of  the  term,  before  you  entered  into 
the  trial,  you  turned  to  the  mass  in  the  court-room,  Avhom  you  conceived 
to  be  the  mob,  and  asked  of  them  if  they  would  allow  you  the  privilege  of 
defending  the  prisoner  / 


116  APPENDIX. 

The  trial  consumed  the  entire  week,  and  as  everybody  knew  it  would 
be  so,  the  jury,  as  a  matter  of  course,  returned  a  verdict  of  "Guilty  of 
Murder  in  the  First  Degree"  against  the  prisoner.  When  the  jury  came 
down  to  give  in  their  verdict,  you  were  absent,  and  the  judge  refused  to 
receive  it  until  you  were  present,  by  your  client,  and  you  were  sent  for,  but 
refused  to  come,  and  the  prisoner  received  it  alone!  On  Monday  morn- 
ing Judge  Harlan  called  the  court  together,  for  the  purpose  of  passing 
sentence  on  Monroe.  You  then  appeared  in  court  before  the  sentence  was 
passed,  and  made  a  motion  for  a  new  trial,  founding  your  motion  upon 
some  plan  in  the  instructions  to  the  jury.  The  judge  took  until  Tuesday 
morning  to  consider  the  motion,  examine  authorities,  etc.  During  that 
same  day  you  came  to  me  and  told  me  that,  in  order  to  save  Monroe's  life 
from  the  mob,  you  thought  it  was  best  for  you  to  go  to  the  judge  and  get 
him  to  overrule  the  motion,  and  allow  him  to  pass  sentence  upon  the  pri- 
soner, and  you  would  take  the  instructions  to  the  Supreme  Court,  and  get 
a  new  trial  from  that  body.  Tuesday  morning  came,  the  motion  was  over- 
ruled, and  sentence  was  passed  upon  Monroe.  Then  you  refused  to  go  to 
the  Supreme  Court,  saying  that  your  duties  in  the  case  had  ceased  !  It 
was  several  days  before  I  could  induce  you  to  go  up  to  the  Supreme  Court, 
as  you  had  said  you  designed  doing  when  you  ivanted  your  motion  over- 
ruled by  Judge  Harlan.  Previously  to  your  taking  the  papers  up  to  Spring- 
field, you  stated  publicly,  in  Bill  Hart's  grocery,  that  you  were  going  up  to 
the  Supreme  Court,  not  for  the  purpose  of  getting  a  new  trial,  but,  seemingly 
to  discharge  your  duty  and  for  the  satisfaction  of  his  (Monroe's)  friends  / 

After  you  got  to  Springfield,  you  stated  that  you  did  not  want  a  new 
trial,  and  when  the  application  for  the  new  trial  was  decided  against  you  in 
that  court,  you  said  it  was  decided  just  as  you  wanted  it! 

Now,  sir,  you  have  your  whole  conduct  as  counsel  for  A.  F.  Monroe, 
above.  I  have  told  it  truly,  calmly,  and  fairly.  Now  you  shall  have  my 
opinion.  So  far  from  your  conducting  the  case  with  zeal  and  ability  of  any 
kind,  saying  nothing  about  the  "usual,"  I  believe  you  were  either  most 
woefully  indifferent  to  the  fate  of  your  client,  lamentably  deficient  in  honesty, 
or  feed  to  hang  Dolph  Monroe  by  the  mob — the  other  side.  You  can  choose 
either  horn  of  the  dilemma  you  please — it  was  one  of  the  three,  and,  most 
likely  the  latter,  as  you  said,  after  the  failure  of  your  application  to  the 
Supreme  Court,.that  you  wished  the  mob  would  hang  him  !  Is  it  not  aston- 
ishing, sir,  this  depravity  of  human  nature  ?  You  were  right  in  thanking 
your  God  that  he  made  you  so  honest ;  and  I  do  not  blame  you,  for  no  one 
else  can  do  the  same  for  you.  No,  Mr.  Linder,  your  conduct  in  the  case 
was  this :  it  was  cowardly,  it  was  dishonorable,  it  was  dishonest,  it  was 
two-faced.  You  would  profess  one  thing  and  act  another.  But,  sir,  I  have 
done.  I  hope  you  are  fully  satisfied  with  my  "  thoughts  upon  this  sub- 
iect,"  and  with  that  hope,  allow  me,  sir,  to  subscribe  myself, 

Respectfully,  your  obedient  servant, 

NAPOLEON  B.  AULICK. 


APPENDIX.  117 


CHARLESTON,  January  3Qtk,  1856. 
N.  B.  AULICK  : — 

Dear,  Dear  Friend  : — When  I  am  gone,  take  my  Diaries,  Books 
No.  1  and  2,  to  Emmerson  Bennett  of  Cincinnati,  or  some  other  man  com- 
petent to  write  out  and  expose  all  of  this  affair  ;  and  my  last  solemn 
request  is,  that  no  name — no  man  or  woman  be  spared : — let  the  truth  be 
told,  and  even  the  very  names  given  as  they  are.  This  I  solemnly 
request. 

Pole,  you  are  the  only  man  I  ever  loved,  and  I  have  loved  you  far 
beyond  a  brother's  love — I  would  have  died  for  you  ;  for  you  have  a  heart — 
you  are  a  man — and  an  honest  man,  and  they  are  very  scarce  in  this 
world.  I  have  tried  to  be  your  friend — I  am  now  going  to  God — and  to 
you  and  my  mother  I  leave  ALL  I  HAVE.  All  I  request  of  you  is,  do 
for  me,  when  I  am  gone,  as  you  think  I  ivould  do  for  you.  You  know 
what  I  mean,  for  you  have  a  heart — you  are  a  man.  Pole,  do  not  grieve 
for  me,  when  I  am  gone.  I'm  ready — I  am  going  home.  We  '11  meet 
again — up  there — up  there  we  '11  meet  and  rejoice.  Comfort  my  poor  old 
mother — 'tuill  not  be  long.  I  go  prepared.  I  only  ask  of  you,  see  these 
books  published — see  it  done.  My  name  shall  yet  be  mighty  and  strong  ; 
my  name  and  memory  shall  yet  be  all  powerful  for  vengeance,  when  I  am 
dust.  My  life  and  my  words  shall  yet  be  a  common  and  familiar  sound 
in  every  household  in  the  land — and  I  will  yet  be  most  terribly  avenged — 
and  my  name  endeared  to  all  honest  men  and  women. 

Pole,  when  I  am  gone  take  me  to  Kentucky — take  me  from  here,  bury  me 
upon  Kentucky  soil — upon  one  of  the  islands  above  Falmouth,  "St.  Helena," 
or  Lover's  Retreat.  Inclose  it,  etc.,  as  you  will  find  directed  in  my 
books — a  weeping  willow  at  my  head,  and  a  cedar  at  my  feet — future  gen* 
erations  shall  visit  my  tomb  and  shed  tears  upon  my  grave. 

Nannie  has  done  this  thing;  but  her  mother  led  her  on.  Spare  her,  for 
my  child's  sake  ;  spare  her,  when  I  am  gone.  She  must  and  will  suffer 
much — add  not  to  the  stings  of  her  own  conscience. 

That  is  surely  enough.  But  should  she  ever  marry  again,  then  I  invoke 
all  the  curses  of  hell  and  heaven  upon  her  head. 

Pole,  if  I  was  free  but  one  day,  I  would  not  fall  alone,  or  unavenged.  God 
restrains  my  arm. — He  will  yet  avenge  my  fall  and  fate.  When  I  am 
moldering  in  my  grave,  I  will  still  speak  and  be  avenged. 

Nannie  has  loved  me  well ;  alas  !  too  well,  for  she  has  been  ever  jeal- 
ous ;  and  I  had  rather,  to-day,  be  in  my  place  and  go  to  eternity,  than  in 
hers,  with  her  conscience,  and  live ;  and  I  prophesy  right  here,  that  she 


118  APPENDIX. 

will  not  stay  long.     Her  heart,  I  think,  is  right  —  and  she  and  her  relatives 
can  never  get  along.     She  can  never  be  happy  again. 

Pole,  when  I  am  gone,  I  want  you  and  my  mother  to  save  all  you  can 
of  my  estate,  from  lander  the  thief,  and  from  the  hands  of  the  law,  for 
your  own  use.  Attend  to  my  requests,  all  of  them,  and  one  is  ;  save 
what  you  can  for  you  and  my  mother. 

Keep  an  eye  upon  my  child,  while  she  lives  ;  I  don't  think  she  will 
ever  live  to  be  a  woman  ;  and  I  prefer  that  she  would  die  than  to  be  raised 
there.  Oh  God  !  let  her  not  stay  there.  Nannie  has  sworn  to  me  that 
she  herself,  nor  May,  should  stay  there. 

Pole,  I  have  loved  Nannie  and  spoiled  her.  She  was  a  spoiled  child, 
and  I  petted  and  spoiled  her  as  my  wife.  I  had  to  conquer  all  this  —  and  I 
have  done  so.  She  was  completely  conquered  and  a  good  and  loving  wife  when 
this  affair  occurred.  She  was  a  child,  but  she  is  now  a  woman.  She  was, 
when  this  thing  happened,  a  good  wife  and  a  true  woman  ;  'tis  true,  she  has 
caused  all  ;  but  blame  her  mother,  and  not  her.  Her  mother  has  mur- 
dered Ellington  and  me,  and  how  many  more  God  alone  may  know.  If 
Nannie  redeems  half  of  her  promises  and  pledges  to  me,  when  I  am  gone, 
she  is  worthy  —  if  not,  she  must  and  will  suffer. 

Pole  —  dear,  dear,  noble  friend,  this  earth  is  but  a  stopping-place.  You 
and  I,  Pole,  will  meet  again  and  then  you  may  know  how  well  I  love  you. 
/  am  no  common  man  ;  I  am  above  —  far  above  —  the  vulgar  herd,  and  so 
are  you,  in  HEART,  if  not  in  education. 

In  another  and  better  world,  Pole,  we  '11  meet  again,  my  noble  friend, 
the  ONLY  MAN  I  ever  loved. 

I  have  done  —  I  fall  —  but  remember  I  fall  a  victim,  but  proudly  fall  ! 
In  eternity,  all  this  thing  shall  be  solved.  A  man  can  die  but  once,  and 
he  who  fears  to  die,  is  not  a  man.  This  day  I  would  only  ask  life  —  only 
ask  to  live  for  those  /  love,  and  for  my  own  fame.  I  am  a  man  ;  my  spirit, 
before  'God,  will  tower  far  above  the  low,  dirty  world.  Pole  !  I  am  pre- 
pared —  I  am  safe  —  meet  me  there  ;  meet  me  there,  my  noble-hearted  friend 
and  brother.  God  is  our  Judge,  and  we  will  conquer  and  rejoice  with 
Him.  Weep  not  for  me,  I  am  at  rest  !  /  have  gone  home  ! 

A.  F.  MONROE. 


x 


THE     END. 


I 


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